Not That Likely, Love
by eyebrow-extravaganza
Summary: When he spends his father's money on alcohol and wild teen parties, used-to-be-rich Alfred Jones is forced by friends and family alike to get a job – as a butler to some boring old codger named Kirkland! The lazy American lad is totally not impressed with the stuffy, bossy British gentleman, and decides to prove this by being the worst servant there is… Shenanigans ensue.
1. Prologue

**A/N: Hello dear readers! So, it's been a while since I have uploaded anything, and this is my new account - so it's currently blank of stories. Some of you may know me from my Tumblr (same username) or my old account ~Dootsyblue, and I made this account because a) my old one sucked and b) new username, new multi-chapter story! Yes, after a year of editing and procrastinating, I am finally uploading my 60,000 word USUK novel I wrote for NaNoWriMo last year. It is complete, so expect regular updates and numerous amounts of chapters!**

**Summary: When he spends his father's money on alcohol and wild teen parties, used-to-be-rich Alfred Jones is forced by friends and family alike to get a job – as a butler to some boring old codger named Kirkland! The lazy American lad is **_**totally**_** not impressed with the stuffy, bossy British gentleman and his strict ways and decides to prove this by being the worst servant there is… Shenanigans ensue.**

**Pairing: USUK and other minor pairings**

**Rated: T**

**Warnings: This will contain mild language and some male x male content - but nothing too graphic.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They belong to the famed Himapapa.**

**Now I'll shut my mouth and allow you lovely people to read. Enjoy the prologue! uvu**

* * *

"Hey, dude! Come over here and have a drink with us - you're celebrating, right?" a loud, accented voice called across the small bar. The sound reached the ears of said 'Dude', and yet he only gave a humble grin in response to the loud words, not bothering to turn and address the callers.

"Nah, I can't do that mates! I'm with my bro tonight - a leaving home celebration, ya know? And I'd prefer to drink with people I actually know," he laughed carelessly, grinning at his small, meek half brother seated beside him; he gave a slightly worried smile in response.

"Ah, _mon cher, _do you not recognise the voices of some old friends? Or 'ave you forgotten us now that you are all grown up?" a second accented voice called from the group, accompanied with some distinctly French-sounding laughter. The lad froze at the comment, a smile slowly upturning the corners of his mouth and his eyes beginning to sparkle with excitement. He turned around expectantly, expression brightening as he spotted his old school friends seated across the bar.

"Hey… you guys! You're here?" he yelled, eagerly leaping up from the small table he was sat at with his brother and bounding towards his rather unconventional friends seated at the bar. The abandoned brother, also leaving home on that particular day, sighed ruefully and dug a fork absently into the burger that had previously been thrust towards him against his will. He had a feeling it was going to be a long night.

Meanwhile, the other brother was hugging his friends energetically as they were re-united, slapping their backs as they in turn ruffled his hair and patted his shoulders. The young man grinned, stepping back to inspect his old friends and how they had changed since he had last seen them.

"Hey dudes! I totally didn't expect you to be here! Man, you guys rock," he laughed with mirth, now completely ignoring his twin perched awkwardly on the barstool nearby, who only sighed and stared forlornly and longingly at the door. The three men surrounding the energetic boy slapped his back in turn, all glad he was finally leaving the nest and joining them in their celebrations.

"So… you guys finished school and left home a while ago, right?" the young man inquired, and all three nodded in confirmation.

"Yeah, which is why we haven't been in touch… new lives, new towns, you know?" the third man spoke up now, slightly curled brown hair falling into his green eyes as he beamed at his old friend.

"Aw, you guys are so lucky! I wish I could have left home earlier than this - my dad was overjoyed to see the back of me!" the American boy cried, running a hand through his dark blond hair with a contemplative sigh.

"Oh, we should hold celebrations for you! Help take your mind off your family, _non_?" the Frenchman offered, and his two friends nodded in agreement.

"Hey, and what's a party… without drinks?" the man who had called him over first spoke up with a smirk. His short, ice-white hair fell around his pale face as he shoved a drink towards the younger man, his blood-red eyes gleaming mischievously as he waited for a response. The young American paused, blinking owlishly behind his large glasses.

"Ah, but you know my dad says I'm not allowed to drink-"

"Who gives a damn what your dad says!" the green-eyed companion interrupted with a lazy smile. "You've left home now; you have no links to him! Uh, except that healthy sum of money the he was supposed to give you for 'setting off on your own'…"

The young lad hesitated before nodding cautiously, eyeing the mug of beer in front of him with a hungry look in his seemingly innocent blue eyes.

The Frenchman then chose to speak up with a flirtatious grin. "I presume, _mon ami_, that he _did_ actually give you a loan?" he asked somewhat innocently, looping an arm around the younger man and breathing into his ear with a flirtatious smile. The home-leaving lad responded by cheekily shoving the blond flirt away ungraciously.

"Yes, he did give me money despite being the stingy bastard that he is," he laughed. "But don't think you can sell yourself to me like the prostitute you are!" he teased the older man, prompting a round of raucous laughter from the other two. "And, might I add, it's a whole load of cash! My bro too, so it's double the fun. There are perks to having a super-successful businessman as a dad," he laughed. "Dudes, I am totally _swimming_ in dollars - It'll be a party every night now that I've left home!" With his confidence restored, and a new brave rush of willpower, he grabbed the mug of beer offered previously to him and chugged it down, only coughing slightly as his eyes bugged out, and he slammed the now empty tankard onto the bar table. His half brother, still huddled by himself with the untouched meal before him, sent him a discouraging glance from a distance. The young man paused for a second, briefly wondering if he was making the right choices, but his friends cheered him on encouragingly as they offered him another drink. The young man shrugged and took it, and thus the true celebrations started. The half brother just sighed, stroking a small polar bear trinket with a defeated air as he watched his brother spiral into drunkenness.

* * *

Continuing on from that night, the American lad continued to celebrate. Whether it was with strangers or with friends, he would spend the impressive sum of loan money - and he would spend it big. Any innocent civilians or friends who went to his grand and flashy parties would come away gasping in wonder, eagerly replaying the events of the night and complimenting heartily the expensive drinks, sexy and talented dancers who stole the show, and the amazing locations chosen to hold the parties spread across the city. The lad himself paid no attention to the money amount he owned, and completely ignored the rent for the flat he shared with his half brother while he splashed in cash all day and all night. He neglected and rejected a normal, average life, choosing to follow the path of a party-goer and spending money whenever and where ever he felt like it. Some might say he had everything - a seemingly endless amount of money, all the girls lining up to see him and a ton of popular, admired friends… and so the future looked bright.

Meanwhile, his half-brother got to a new life away from home efficiently and sensibly. He interviewed for just one job - a small sports shop specialising in hockey - and gained it right away due to his own Canadian heritage and skill in his national sport. He earned a small, average amount a month, and used this as well as the money he'd been given to pay the entire rent for the shared flat (with claims from his brother that he'd pay it back later), as well as having occasional dinners out and buying small luxuries for himself. He kept the apartment clean and well-cared for, and made a few steadfast friends through hockey and general life. Although he was happy with his simple lifestyle, it was considerably average compared to his half brother's flashy existence; one could only wonder how long one or the other would last.

Only time would tell, although at the moment most people would beg for the American's extravagant world and merely shun the meek Canadian's simple lifestyle. However, there would come a time when one would be begging the other for help while the other turned away his pleas - shall we read on to find out who this unfortunate brother may be?

* * *

**So there's the prologue. This just sets the scene, so the story will pick up next chapter - which I may post later on today if I have time. Thank you for reading, and I would be delighted to receive any reviews, criticisms and more!  
~Over and out**


	2. Of Heroes and Debts

**A/N: Hello again lovelies! I thought I'd upload chapter 2 now, to help the story flow from the prologue. Enjoy!**

******Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. They are all Himaruya's.**

* * *

Alfred F. Jones strode meaningfully through town, his new white sneakers gleaming and his stylish sunglasses reflecting the sunlight dutifully from his hidden azure eyes. His coat, patriotically decorated with stars and stripes, blew behind him in the wind, giving him the appearance of a cape, as if he were some sort of superhero. As he walked, children and adults alike stopped to stare at the youth as he moved throughout the town, his expression haughty and his stride confident. The children stared at him unashamedly, sharing rumours about his identity and how rich he was, while all the while their eyes glistened with admiration for the heroic-looking teenager. The adults, however, had varied responses - the younger generation of these also admired him, talking in hushed voices about his wealth and the amazing parties he hosted; the older generation could only shake their heads in disgust at his self-worthy attire and curse those rich enough to spend money on good causes - but who actually did absolutely nothing to help anyone but themselves.

Alfred, however, remained ignorantly oblivious to the gossip on this particular day; despite his cool, uncaring attitude he obtained as he walked, inside he was a mess. His heart was racing and his eyes were wild, discreetly hidden by the dark gleam of his sunglasses. If one were to look closely enough, however, they might see the telltale signs - the shaking hands, the hurried pacing, the teeth-grinding ritual all nervous citizens go through at some point in their lives. However, the crowd, always obnoxious and eager to prattle, took no notice of these small human features and instead just raised their eyebrows, stared and sighed at the sight of the young man striding through town in a seemingly important state. If only they knew!…

Alfred had woken up that morning with a hangover, which was the first odd thing - sure, most teenagers and adults alike suffered from hangovers after a shit-tonne of alcohol; it wasn't an uncommon condition but Alfred had always found himself to be unaffected by it. The next unusual thing that had occurred was that he'd found himself waking up next to a pool near the sunny beach he'd held his most recent party at; his shirt was floating in the water and there was a rubber ring around his head. This was strange, seeing as Alfred normally managed to make it to a bed in time before he passed out. He'd left the place without cleaning up - he'd specifically paid the employees of the pool to tidy up after him and his friends had finished their hardcore partying. He'd been on his way home, when he'd received an innocent phone call whilst he was in the middle of texting his friends, asking for their wellbeing after last night's splash. He had dutifully ignored the call, continuing to text his comrades, and had only glanced at the caller after he'd finished his texting spree. The sight he saw had shaken him.

_You have recently missed a call from the HSBC._

Alfred had been worried, to say the least. A call from his bank was never a good thing - mostly because he'd only been called once before, and it had been a negative subject at hand - he'd broken his card and had left it somewhere to rot; they'd had it handed it in, and wanted to lecture him on the dangers of people finding his bank cards. This meant that now, Alfred was worried. In fact, he was so worried he decided to put on hold his plans for the day (more partying) and visit the nearest HSBC_ - _hence why he was now practically running through town, ignoring the pedestrians gossipping and staring at the rich daddy's boy with something clearly on his mind.

The receptionist for the HSBC bank in town gasped audibly as a man in dark shades and a black sunhat looking like an insane extract from _The Matrix_ burst through the ornate doors with a yell. She sunk down in her seat slightly as the seemingly stressed man ran up to her and slammed his hands on her desk; he paid no attention to her shocked response, and instead just stared desperately at her.

"Whaddaya want from me!?" he yelled, and only then seemed to notice how scared she was looking. He coughed slightly, and straightened up. "I mean…uh, why did I get a call from _you_?"

She stared in confusion, and Alfred realised what he'd just said, and how it could be interpreted.

Rubbing his forehead in irritation, he tried again. "The bank - uh, _your_ bank - called me. I missed it… what did you want to tell me!?" he stammered, trying to get the meek girl to understand with the willpower in his eyes - oh wait, he had shades on didn't he? That could explain her nervousness. He pocketed them, and lifted his sun-hat so as to show her his face. She relaxed visibly at the sight of his familiar baby blues and tanned complexion.

"Ah, Mr. Jones… you really shouldn't scare me like that," she sighed, straightening up when she realised the madman was actually just the awkward, rich young youth who she had spoken to months before.

Alfred nodded sheepishly, and shrugged as he fiddled with his hat. "So…why did you want to speak to me on the phone?" he asked, a lot more calmly this time. With an efficient sigh, she tapped some keys on her computer as she looked through the files. Alfred waited patiently, though he could feel his patience slipping away as he realised he needed to be somewhere - specifically a party - _very_ soon.

Eventually, the receptionist paused, an expressionless look coming over her features. She looked up at him gravely, and simply said the five words that would change Alfred's life forever.

"…Your bank account is empty."

Alfred stopped in his tracks as his jaw hit the floor. He blinked disbelievingly - there was no way he was broke! No, he had his dad's money, his _rich_ businessman dad's money! Loads of it! What had… where had… how had…

"I take it this is rather bad news, sir?" the receptionist asked sternly, taking in the look of horror on the teen's face.

Alfred ignored her as thoughts raced round his feverish mind: he could see Matthew's angry face now, demanding that Alfred pay him back like he promised… he could see his friends, dismayed at the sudden end to their joint fun… and he could see his father, shaking his head in disappointment at the waste of valuable money he'd given him.

"…You have no idea," Alfred breathed, the realisation sinking in that he had _no money._ At all.

The receptionist rolled her eyes at him. She'd seen this many times before - a young teen spends and spends and spends without thinking of the consequences. She'd known it would only be a while before it happened to the youth before her.

"Well, at least you're not in debt. That's always a good thing," she smiled, trying to console the broken teenager. Alfred just shook his head absently, before spinning around and disappearing through the doors.

"Wait, we still need to sort out your…" The doors slammed shut. "…bank account," the receptionist huffed, crossing her arms at the rudeness of the boy she'd just attended to. Honestly, kids these days! If she'd had the money he had owned… she sighed in envy. Well, at least his dream was over now - maybe he'd gotten what he deserved in the end.

* * *

Meanwhile, Alfred was panicking big time. As he ran through the streets, ordered a taxi and ordered the taxi to take him home _now_, only one thing was on his mind - _I need to talk to Matthew._

His half-brother would help, he was sure of it. After all, brothers stick out for each other, right? He winced internally as he suddenly remembered that over the past few months since leaving home he hadn't done that at all - leaving his brother to pay the rent and buy food for them both while he partied away with excuses of paying him back later. Yeah, maybe Matthew wouldn't be so eager to help…

"But I deserve it," Alfred moaned, rubbing his hands through his golden hair in distress.

"Is something wrong, sir?" the taxi driver enquired, peering through the mirror at the shaken boy in the back seat. He'd known Alfred for a while, helping the teen to and fro places he so desired; and he also liked the teen for his constant cheeriness and good will (and the fact that he paid well was an added bonus). So to see him here like this, hunched over and berating himself, was a little off putting.

Eventually they arrived, and the driver turned with a smile, ready to take the good payment Alfred always supplied - only to hear a door slam and a hasty 'sorry!' come from outside. The driver could only stiffen in shock and anger as the one customer who _always_ paid ran off towards his house, leaving the taxi driver penniless and furious.

Alfred cringed as he heard a loud curse explode from the taxi, followed shortly by a creative flow of insults. But, again, he deserved it - although he had no money on him at that time. Or any other time now. Alfred shuddered as he swiftly unlocked the door to the brothers' shared apartment, marvelling despite his worry at the clean, welcoming atmosphere inside. He heard his brother's hassled sigh coming from the small kitchen.

"Come in!"

Alfred shivered internally. His brother was not going to like this… not one bit. He slammed his palm against his face in despair as his brother appeared from the kitchen. God, why was he such an idiot?

"You're such an idiot!" Matthew groaned for what felt suspiciously like the fifteenth time, waving his hands dramatically as he lectured his brother over and over. Alfred sighed from the sofa, rubbing the back of his neck meekly as he blinked innocently up at his distressed brother.

"I said I was sorry," he mumbled, wishing he'd gone to someone who wasn't quite as… teacher-y. Yeah, someone like Francis or Antonio would have been better. Or Gilbert - his albino friend would certainly have been better at consoling him, or making him feel a whole lot better than he did right now. In fact, all three would be good. They could go to a bar, and drink, and party, and-

"Are you even listening to me!?" Matthew whined, effectively bringing Alfred away from his straying thoughts. Alfred just grinned encouragingly, but his grin was laced with irritation.

"Yeah, sure thing bro! I _always_ listen to you," he assured, but Matthew just glared at him.

"See, this is your problem! You never take anything seriously enough! You just… you just _sit _there, and laugh about everything, and let me do all the hard work, and… and…!" the quiet brother wailed in desperation, willing his brother to understand how to take something _seriously_ for once. Oh, for the love of maple…

Alfred sighed sheepishly, realising he hadn't helped his brother's mood one bit. He sat up slightly from where he was sprawled on the sofa, looking his brother straight in the eyes.

"Look. I _am_ taking this seriously, as much as you think I'm not. I just… don't know how to cope with this! I mean, I know I've messed up, and I know I need to fix it big time, but I just don't know _how_!" he cried, pouting childishly and hunching pathetically in front of his normally sweet brother. Matthew grunted, torn between being unable to resist his brother's charm any longer and wanting to whack his pretty little lights out with a hockey stick. Eventually, he settled on the former option and simply gave a tired smile.

"It's just like you never grew up, isn't it? You're still a kid inside, even though you're nearly twenty - and I know just the thing to get you to grow up, and fix things at the same time!" he consoled his wretched brother, patting him on the shoulder and sitting down next to him from where he had been giving his lecture. Alfred turned to him with hope-filled eyes sparkling with new aspirations, and Matthew smiled at the thought of actually being useful to his brother in terms other than paying his rent.

"What is it?" Alfred whispered, with the same unyielding optimism a small child might have when talking to Santa, and Matthew felt another warm glow at his brother's faith in _him_, his meek little half-brother. He smiled knowingly, playing out the part of a helpful brother for once, and said simply,

"You need to get a job!"

…

There was silence after the phrase. Matthew waited eagerly for his brother's grateful response, hands clasped eagerly together while he mentally patted himself on the back. Alfred, however, said nothing, standing stock-still for the second time that day. He coughed slightly to break the silence.

"A-aha, good joke there, Matthew. Wow, ya really got me," he stuttered nervously, attempting to pacify the quiet rage his brother would surely be sporting afterwards.

Matthew's smile dropped instantly, and he glared at his brother, who was currently slowly shifting away from the angry Canadian next to him.

"I wasn't joking!" Matthew growled, and saw with a slight amount of satisfaction that Alfred flinched at his words; it wasn't often Matthew got to be the aggressive one in their brotherly relationship.

"B-but Mattie, you know I can't get a job! You should just lend me some money instead - If I got a job I'd fail, and I'd mess up, and they'd kick me out and…" Alfred trailed off from defending himself at the furious gleam in his brother's eye. Oh dear. The look on Matthew's face was one not seen often - in fact, the last time Alfred remembered it was as kids, when Alfred had 'accidentally' broken the top half of the bunk bed and had fallen onto Matthew in the middle of the night. Then, Alfred had ended up with a whack in his special place from a hockey stick and puck. Now…

Alfred winced at the hockey stick twirling dangerously in Matthew's hand. When the hell had that gotten there? Sweating nervously, he placed both hands over his crotch and stood up, backing away with the speed of someone who doesn't want to get whacked in the privates by their psycho brother wielding a hockey stick.

"Now then, Mattie, if you're gonna be like that then I guess I can always try and-"

"You'll go and get a job NOW!" Matthew yelled, running at Alfred with the hockey stick. With a yelp of shock, Alfred hastily backed out of the front door, with a cry accompanying him as the door slammed shut behind him.

"And don't come back begging me for money until you're earning some!"

* * *

Alfred groaned out load, cursing his life and how stupid he was. So he needed to find a job. Great. He'd always hated jobs, but it wasn't so much the work that annoyed him - it was the bosses, and most importantly, the _rules._

Don't eat this, don't talk like that, do this, never do that… it would be like living with his fucking parents again! Not that he'd minded living with his parents so much in childhood - it was just when he'd gotten to that teenager-y stage and they'd been all about the rules. His step-mom had been all right, if a bit more attached to her own son than Alfred - but his father? Alfred swore he could still feel the lashings with a belt on his wrists…

Alfred sniffed slightly as he felt himself get dragged down further into his dark hole of despair. Great, as if money-angst wasn't enough, now he had to deal with old memories as well? Alfred groaned again, rubbing his steamed-up glasses (which were certainly _not_ steamed up because he'd been crying; heroes didn't cry!) and pulled out his phone to call a cab. He may as well go into town and see if there were any - oh wait, the taxi company probably hated him now.

But his favourite town was 6 miles away! Sighing, he realised he'd have to go to the tiny town near the posh estate him and his brother lived in, which was renowned for having the snobbiest citizens a town could have. Jesus Christ, he couldn't get a break today could he!? He stood quickly, stepping out of the porch and…

Into a gush of rainwater from the gutter.

Matthew just watched sadly from the window as he heard a stream of obnoxious curses that would make a sailor cringe coming explosively from his sodden brother as he stormed down the tiny pavement towards the town ahead. Rain spattered down around him, soaking the brother's hair and giving him the appearance of a wet, downtrodden puppy. Matthew tried to feel justified in his decision; it was for Alfred's own good after all, but he couldn't help but feel a small stab of guilt of being an aid to the cause of his sudden misery and woe.

…But it was for the best. Alfred would get a job, and earn money, and finally learn to be independent; he would fit into society better, and could even start his life over.

That is, if he could get a job; Alfred hadn't been lying when he'd predicted he'd mess up - he wasn't exactly the height of social etiquette.

"Oh Alfred, please don't mess this chance up," Matthew whispered.

* * *

**...And thus the tale begins. Have a nice day !(and remember - reviews are a delight to receive, dear readers)**


	3. Of Gentlemen and Drinking

**A/N: Hello everyone! I'm going to try and update this every day, to make up for all the discontinued stories I've started and never finished in the past. So here's chapter 3 of NTLL - I know there's been a distinctive lack of Kirklands so far, but I assure you they will turn up soon enough ;)  
Enjoy this chapter!**

******Disclaimer: D'you really think I have permission to own these characters. _Really?_**

* * *

"...And so you see, I need a job here 'cause I spent all my money on crap - uh, that'll sound terrible! Wait… I need a job, because my psycho brother - no, that won't work either…" Alfred tried for the umpteenth time as he paced back and forth. He was currently in a waiting room, nervously anticipating his first interview; a conference with JCPenney, a popular clothing store his brother was rather fond of. It was one of the only places with a job free, at least of what was advertised in the newspaper he'd picked up in town yesterday. He was now staying at a hotel, having asked (read: begged) his group of steadfast friends for a small amount of money just to pay for a room for the night. His friends, who weren't that loaded themselves and had always relied on Alfred's tonne of cash, had rather reluctantly agreed, and so he'd managed to find the cheapest hotel in town and had been curled up in his dingy bed despairing - until now. Now, he stood in the waiting room, impatiently anticipating an interview with the first company he'd found. He realised he looked terrible - he wore his clothes from yesterday, crumpled and extravagantly obnoxious, and his hair was greasy and limp from lack of washing due to his current state of depression. However, he was determined to make a good impression, and when it was his turn, he strode self-righteously into the interviewing office, ignoring the whispers of contempt from the gossipers in the waiting room. He was a heroic man, for God's sakes, and he would not stand by and let these people walk all over him! He was Alfred F. Jones! He was amazing! He was… he was…

* * *

He was completely useless.

"Ah, thank you for your rather… interesting interview, Mr. Jones. You'll hear from us in a few days to see whether you've… gotten the job," the brisk manager of the nearest Walgreens store muttered, trying to appear somewhat consoling when it was apparent Alfred had definitely not gotten the job. Christ, he was lucky they were being so nice to him - he had utterly and completely failed at giving a good impression on any of the interviews he'd been to today. He'd tried all the open jobs he could find - but he'd even failed the Walmart interview, bursting into Bonnie Tyler's 'I need a hero' so as to show the manager he could encourage and motivate the other workers through singing. Yeah, they'd pretty much kicked him out - at least this store was trying to be nice, even though it was pretty clear they thought his idea of 'pretending to overdose on drugs and dying in the store window - to show people how bad drugs can be!' was not a good one; no, they showed him the door rather politely, and he could only hear their annoyed sighs after they'd shut the door behind him. So at least that was a partial success, right?

Oh God, who was he kidding? He'd never get a job! This was why Matthew should have lent him some money instead of locking him out! That way he could have… he could have… spent it on himself. Alfred sighed as he realised his brother's point. He needed Independence, goddammit! He needed to show everyone that he wasn't just good at spending money! … Except that's all he was good for, at least now anyway. It wasn't that he'd never been intelligent - no, he remembered clearly teachers congratulating him throughout school on his amazing Chemistry results, and how he excelled at every sport he played with ease, making it onto every team and grabbing all the girls with his athletic body and looks… God, what on Earth had happened to him!?

"I got lazy, that's what," Alfred complained to the air, ignoring the strange looks the pedestrians walking alongside gave him. Probably thinking what a loser he was. Ugh. When had he turned into such a failure? With a sigh, he quickened his pace and began to head back to his current 'home'.

Eventually he arrived back at the hotel, fiddling with the lock for around 5 minutes before realising he was using his brother's flat key. Gritting his teeth, he stormed into the grimy room and flopped onto the cheap duvet with a sigh. In the state he was in, he could only think of one thing to do - and that was get pissed out of his mind with his three best friends. Okay, so maybe he was broke now so technically they would have to pay for it all - but wasn't that what friends were for?

He rolled over, grabbing his expensive iPhone from where it lay on the bed next to him - great, he'd need to pay for more credit soon as well - and hastily sent not-at-all-desperate-sounding texts to his three loyal friends. They'd reply, and then they could all go and forget about Alfred's toils and troubles. It was a perfect plan, and although it wouldn't help his current situation any better he figured it would be good to at least wait for a definite 'no' from the employers - after all, they could have just been faking their disdain of him. Right?…

Well, it would have been a perfect plan, if his friends weren't all such douchebags.

The responses he eventually received were extremely unenthusiastic, with claims of hangovers from a party the previous night amongst other ill-thought-out excuses. Alfred was shell-shocked. What, they'd had a party without him? Him, the King of Parties and Money?… Well, he supposed he couldn't exactly claim that title any more, but he was still a party animal in spirit! Now feeling wretched and abandoned, he demanded that they meet at the nearest pub to him, without any exceptions. After a couple more excuses and complaints, he managed to get all three to agree to come, and feeling slightly consoled he headed out to town. On the way out of the hotel, the lady next to the counter fluttered her eyelashes at him with a flirtatious smirk, and Alfred grinned to himself. See, he may not be the no.1 party king any more, but he still had his good looks-

"Hey, Roma!" she called suddenly, and Alfred frowned.

"_Salve, pulchra_!"

Alfred flinched as a tall, dark Latin man swept past him, flouncing towards the receptionist and kissing her hand with an over-dramatised smooch sound. Alfred grimaced as the girl was reduced to giggles, running a hand through the man's hair and focusing solely on him.

Okay, so maybe she wasn't looking at him. But he was still handsome, right? Right?…

Oh, who was he kidding. It was hopeless, he was hopeless, and there was only one option left - get piss-drunk and forget everything.

Perfect.

* * *

"So, _espèce d'idiot_, what has been troubling you?" Francis said, patting the aforementioned 'idiot' on the back while they waited for Gilbert to arrive and Antonio ordered drinks.

Alfred, having known the Frenchman long enough to understand his insults, grimaced and shifted away. "That's not very nice, considering my life has just been eternally ruined," Alfred sniffed pathetically, burying his head in his arms on the bar counter. Francis raised an eyebrow, and turned to Antonio.

The Spaniard just shrugged, and pointed to the drinks. "_Mi amigo_, just try a drink. You'll feel better, I swear!" he smiled, ever the optimistic one of the group. Francis nodded in agreement, pushing the drink towards the depressed American and smiling when it was hastily swallowed. Alfred burped rather loudly after finishing the tankard and nodded in satisfaction.

Francis grinned. "See, I knew you were just overreacting! Honestly, sometimes you are a _completement débile_," he crooned, stroking Alfred's hair condescendingly.

Alfred set down the now empty mug, eyes trained on the table, and nodded. "I guess it could be worse," he considered thoughtfully, glancing up at the Frenchman wryly. "I mean, I could have a hairy-ass face like yours."

Francis gasped in mock hurt, stroking his patchy stubble self-consciously whilst Antonio burst out laughing.

"M-make that hairy ass, it works just as well!" he giggled cheerfully, flinching only when Francis glanced at him with a look of irritation gracing his features.

"Ah, you must be depressed, _mon ami_, to think of such a pathetic insult," he commented mildly, turning back to Alfred as he spoke. Alfred only grunted in response, and ordered another drink.

Suddenly, the doors slammed open, followed by a dramatic cry.

"The great Gilbert is here! You can bow down to my awesomeness now!" the Prussian crowed, striding purposefully across the bar while Francis tutted, Antonio snickered and the other customers gave disapproving looks. Gilbert only flipped a finger their way, beckoning to the small yellow bird following behind the 'awesome' man. Gilbert arrived at their side of the bar with a leer, the bird not too far behind. Upon seeing Alfred, the bird flew over to him and landed on his head.

Alfred groaned miserably. "Go 'way Gilbird, I'm not in the mood," he growled, and swatted the small bird with his tankard. It gave a screech of annoyance as it landed on the wooden floor, its balance knocked.

Within a split-second, Gilbert was on the floor, cradling the little bird desperately and sending a stone-cold glare to Alfred, which was only enhanced dramatically by his flashing red eyes. Alfred ignored the scene with a disdainful air, only angering the Prussian more.

"Hey, I know you've just fucked up your life but that's no way to treat my chick!" Gilbert huffed, sitting down heavily on one of the bar stools and glaring at Alfred. The American lifted his head wearily, leveling his stare with the Prussian's. Neither wavered, until Antonio laughed nervously and handed them both drinks.

Gilbert nodded in appreciation and took the beer happily. "Now then, what's been ailing ya?" The albino got to the heart of the matter, swigging down the beer like it was water.

Alfred gave him The Look. "You know why dude. I'm completely broke, my brother locked me out of my own house and said I need to get a job, I've messed up at every single interview today by singing, dancing and insulting the company and I have no options left so my life is now over!" he wailed, throwing his arms dramatically up for effect. The trio winced in sympathy for him.

"Yeah, that sucks balls alright," Gilbert laughed, "So, anyone got any ideas? Any wise words they could offer?"

Francis gave a shrug. "Personally, I think you got what was coming to you, at least through your brother," he mumbled as Alfred sent a glare his way. "Don't look at me like that - you have had an easy life, and it's suddenly gotten oh-so-rough -_ bois noueux, hache affilée_, as they say."

Antonio looked quizzically at the Frenchman. "Well, I have no idea what he just said but I have to agree - this is kind of your fault. Getting a job seems to be the only way out, I guess," he offered, and Alfred gave a huff as his forehead hit the table.

Gilbert gave a loud, obnoxious laugh. "Woah, you're all good friends aren't you? Hey, why don't we help the little guy and suggest different jobs instead of blaming him? I'm pretty sure the dude already knows how stupid he's been," he lamented, and the other two men shrugged nonchalantly. Alfred raised his eyes up to the Germanic man, giving a weak smile.

"Yeah, Gilbert gets it," he mumbled gratefully, and the albino just raised his eyebrows in mirth and glanced at the small group.

"Well then, let me offer you this! I have the perfect job for you," he grinned.

Alfred sat up fully, eyes narrowed in suspicion; he knew better than to trust the joker right away. "Oh yeah? Well… what's it involve?"

"A range of wonderful different skills put to the test," Gilbert boasted, hands splaying wide for effect. He paused, turning to Alfred. "Although, mostly your gag reflex…"

Alfred's jaw dropped, eyes flashing furiously. "YOU STUPID -" he cut his outburst off by banging the table with his fist, trying not to cause a scene. "And I thought you were actually trying to help me for once…" he hissed, and Gilbert giggled to himself.

"Sorry, sorry, I just couldn't resist - and your face!…" he chuckled, ignoring the furrowed brow of the young American as his expression darkened even further.

With a huff towards Gilbert, he turned his back on the albino as he faced his other friends.

Gilbert noted the anger of the boy, and hastily thought of something he could say to ease the tension. It came to him in a flash, and he turned to the three men excitedly. "Wait! I know you're mad at me now, but hear me out. Francis!" he turned to the Frenchman who raised a lazy, questioning eyebrow and looked away briefly to glance around the bar. He waved a hand for the albino to continue. Gilbert gave a grin in response. "Right, I may be wrong here but didn't you once say you knew someone who needed employees? An old friend of yours, some… rich dude or something who needed some workers? It was a while ago, but I swear you mentioned it!"

Francis, who had been previously been beginning to make eyes at a scantily-clad girl across the bar, turned to the German with a frown. He pondered Gilbert's question, and then nodded slowly in response. "Well, come to think of it I did. He needs a Butler, I believe, the man is an old friend of mine. A bloke known as Arthur Kirkland; he's a supposed Gentleman…" Francis paused as he noticed the colour drain from his Spanish friend's face. "Uh, Antonio? Are you okay,_ mon ami_?"

Antonio, who was now shivering lightly in his seat, shook his head hastily. He made a slicing motion across his throat as he mouthed the 'Gentleman's' name, and Alfred blinked in confusion.

"Wait. Is this really the sort of job I'd be good at-" He was interrupted with a hasty laugh from Francis and a cry from Antonio, who had just been shoved off his bar stool by the Frenchman. Alfred glanced in concern at the Spaniard, who was currently glaring up at Francis and rubbing his behind. However, he missed the invisible zipper Francis made across his lips at Antonio with narrowed eyes, instead taking another chug of beer.

"Of course, _mon cher_! He is… good at paying, certainly, as he is rather rich, and the job of a Butler isn't that hard," Francis coughed, glancing anywhere but Alfred.

The American narrowed his eyes. "There's something you're not telling me…" he muttered suspiciously.

Gilbert laughed loudly in response. "Dude, you really think you have a lot of other choices right now?" he grinned, and Alfred shook his head in despair as he realised this really was the only option left for him.

Sighing, he ordered another drink. "Well, I don't trust you one bit," he muttered. Francis feigned hurt, and Alfred sighed. "But… I guess I'll just have to go with it," he concluded, ignoring the sneaky look shared between his three drinking partners. "But I have some questions to ask - one, how far away is it? Two, don't I need an interview? Three-" he was cut off again by Antonio.

"I think A-Arthur's pretty desperate for a Butler… he won't mind what you're like, I'm sure," Antonio mumbled, averting his gaze yet again.

"And it is, after all, only a mere two hours away from your own apartment - you can send the money you earn back to the darling _Mathieu_ in order to release yourself from his debt!" Francis encouraged optimistically, with enthusiastic nods from the other two.

Alfred nodded decisively. "Okay, I'll do it," he agreed reluctantly, despite the tickling sense of foreboding.

Francis grinned from ear to ear. "_Idéal_!" he intoned brightly. "I'll ring him up as soon as I get home. He'll take you on, I'm sure; the fool is so desperate! Will you be ready to leave as soon as possible?"

"Well, yeah," Alfred sighed. "Tomorrow I'll be getting kicked out of the hotel - so I'll go then. But I'll need double the money for the taxi ride. I kind of… didn't pay them last time."

Gilbert groaned, but agreed to pay for the taxi as an apology for his earlier trickery. The three drank more and more after that, and when Alfred, renowned for holding his liquor, started to feel tipsy, he said his good-nights to the unconventional trio. Gilbert agreed to order a taxi for him first thing, turning to his friends as Alfred reached for his belongings.

While Alfred was getting his coat on, the trio of friends consulted each other in hushed voices.

"Francis, are you sure this is a good idea? You know Arthur… he'll destroy Alfred's confidence. He's a vicious madman! And I should know," Antonio whimpered, wishing he could warn Alfred of the dangers of that man.

Francis just sighed. "I think you're being a little too over-dramatic. He's really not that bad… and Alfred is _très_ confident. I'm sure he'll survive," he commented, as Gilbert snorted in disbelief.

"Guys, guys. I haven't ever even met the dude, unlike you two, but I have heard some pretty crazy shit about him. Take, for instance," the albino smirked, "The rumour that he punched his cook in the face for insulting his cooking?"

The trio winced slightly, but Francis then shrugged.

"It is only a rumour. And if not, then let Alfred get hit in the face. He has never experienced proper pain, besides the break up of his parents when he was very young, and I think he's forgotten how to… not be a spoilt brat, if I may be so honest," he said simply, earning reluctant nods from his two friends.

"Then it's settled," Antonio whispered. "We won't tell Alfred anything about -"

"Tell me about what?"

The three stiffened and turned around slowly.

"About how… stupid your face is," Gilbert growled childishly. Alfred's eyes filled with drunken hurt, and he stumbled backwards in his tipsy state.

"F-fine then! I'll just go an' get that job, see if I care! And… and I'll make all the maids fall in luuurve with me too!" he slurred, huffing at them angrily. They shared a guilty look, but said nothing more.

The four then went their separate ways, with Alfred retreating abstractedly to the hotel and collapsing on the cheap sheets of his grim bed without a second's hesitation, falling fast asleep to only slip into a dream. He dreamed of himself in a Butler's suit, patterned like the American flag whilst skillfully serving scantily-clad mistresses… and masters.

And thus Alfred woke up on the Monday morning with vivid thoughts of sexy Gentleman lingering in his mind.

* * *

**Ah... well, I hope that chapter was satisfactory. The story will pick up around chapter 4/5, so don't worry if you're fairly bored so far. Still, I hope you enjoyed it, and I would be delighted if you were to leave a review, fave, etc. I'll update soon as I can! ヽ(´ ▽ ` )ﾉ**


	4. Of Car Rides and Kirklands

**A/N: Urgh, sorry for not updating yesterday. I've broken my promise about updating every day barely 4 chapters in, oh dear. My laptop decided to give out on me so I couldn't upload anything; it's mostly back to normal except for the broken keyboard. On screen keyboards, hurrah (╥_╥) Anyway, hope you enjoy this chapter - although still no appearances from Arthur, poor chap.  
I shan't do the whole 'reviews r love' thing, but a review would be much appreciated - even if it's criticism or correcting errors!  
I'll shaddup and let you read now :3**

**Disclamer: Nope, Hetalia is not mine. Sigh.**

* * *

"Oh… it's you," the taxi driver huffed as he noticed his latest passenger huddled meekly outside the taxi door.

Alfred blinked, smiling sheepishly, as he held out double the payment for the taxi. "Uh… h-here's the payment. For last time, as well." He bit his lip, feeling guilty.

The cab driver raised an eyebrow haughtily, then snatched the money and leered at the lad. "That'll teach you to spend all your money on flashy parties," he muttered as the youth jumped in, only softening slightly at the look of pure misery on the young man's face. "Uh, if I offended you… sorry," he added gruffly, trying to retain his 'be polite' policy even if the passenger was a spoilt brat. Alfred just shook his head pathetically, sniffling and staring out of the window. The car began to move forward sluggishly, and Alfred watched the streets as they faded into a continual blur in front of his glasses. He was feeling sorry for himself, a sniveling child again as he peered out of the taxi window and looked at the grey scene passing him by.

As the journey went on, the sky turned even greyer, the clouds turning darker and the shadows on the road intensifying. Alfred knew what it meant, and sure enough the window he was staring out of was soon lightly speckled with the beginnings of rain. Within time, his window was entirely spattered with violent raindrops, and he gave a small defeated sigh. Of course it was raining. It just _had_ to rain; it was an embodiment of his mood. The scene felt suspiciously cliché, like in the sappy movies he was so secretly fond of: when the lead character was going through a rough time, it would always be grey weather, it would always be raining. And he was certainly going through a rough time right now.

Since when had his life sucked so much? Just a few days ago he'd had it all - wealth, popularity… oh, and a place to _live._ Alfred growled bitterly at the fact that as soon as he'd gotten a job, and so was allowed back into the apartment, he had to leave his home for said job. Which was gonna suck, he was sure of it. After all, what good would he do as a _Butler_? He had no etiquette skills! He was rude and obnoxious! He didn't know how to dust a house, or make formal phone calls, or carry dinner plates in that special way butlers in films did, or… or… Oh God, he was going to be fired immediately! He wondered what upper powers hated him right now - his friends certainly seemed annoyed with him_, _and his brother had turned into an uncaring rock in the past few days. His brother being fussy he understood, however; he _did_ owe him money, after all, but his friends?. They hadn't even said goodbye - the only recognition of him leaving that he'd received was a blunt text from Francis telling him his cab was on its way. Not to mention a foreboding, brief text from a guilty-sounding Antonio warning him that Arthur could apparently be a bit… cruel from time to time. Apparently, this was based on the fact that he hadn't succumbed to Francis' sexy seducing… but then again, who did? Anyway, Alfred figured that he'd win the man over anyway with his charm and good looks; at least, it seemed to work for the ladies - not that he'd ever found a particularly strong interest in the fairer sex, but he figured it would come with age. Of course, no girls would be at the mansion, apart from meek little maids who just did their bidding because they couldn't get another job. Alfred scowled again.

Despite his aforementioned woes, none of these things were the penultimate terrible of the day. The worst part? He was wearing a suit. A _suit! _Alfred Jones was wearing a SUIT!And Alfred _hated_ suits. Okay, so maybe he'd gotten off lightly, wearing his a bright blue blazer, American flag tie, crumpled white shirt, ripped jeans and scuffed sneakers for his attire, but it was still atrocious! And yeah, so maybe it wasn't the best Butler suit but it was all he had (and all he would force himself to wear)! Groaning in anxious anticipation, he jumped as the driver chuckled in front of him.

"Sir, forgive my intrusion, but you look a little under the weather," he commented mildly, watching as the boy sank further down into his seat.

"Understatement of the year," Alfred mumbled.

_I bet that's the last time anyone will call me 'sir', _he thought gloomily, staring out into the rain-covered land; the grey and miserable landscape matched his stormy mood perfectly, and Alfred could swear there was a rain cloud dribbling pathetically on his life right now.

As he lingered in thought, he idly thumbed his iPhone music, flicking through track after track in distaste. Nope, too cheerful. Too bright, too happy, too _sunny _for his current mood.  
...Hold on a second. That song there... pretty much summed up his life at the moment. Pursing his lips, he thought about the fact that in movies, the lead character would always have some emotional music accompanying him on the depressing part of the film. Usually during the raining scene. His current scene in the movie of his work experience. And so…

"_Why does it always RAAIIIN on meeee?_" he cried violently in time with the chorus, startling the driver and making him swerve dangerously close to a tree nearby. Alfred, however, paid no attention to the mishap, and instead continued to sing through his own movie.

"_Is it 'cause I lied when I was seventeeen!?_" The driver winced visibly at the butchering of the usually well-sung melody, but Alfred felt too miserable and self-pitying to care right now. Instead, he focused on his life-movie, imagining the audience crying for him now in sympathy.

His mood perked up a little at this thought, and he continued to torture the driver with the finishing words of the chorus:

"_Why does it always raaainn OOON MEEEE!?_" he wailed, gripping his I-phone like a microphone and crooning into it like he was on stage. Once done, he let his head slump against the window and wondered when the next stage of his movie would come on by. He knew deep down that he was being a bit immature, but when his life sucked so much he felt he deserved his little moment of glory. Even if it annoyed certain drivers in charge of his whereabouts…

He fell into silence soon after, and all that could be heard was the buzzing of headphones and the drone of the car. Time rolled sluggishly past, and the driver just rolled his eyes, watching out of the corner of his eyes as the youth in the back seat slowly dropped to sleep after his interesting… performance. The cab driver smiled slightly at the boy's now peaceful drooling face, free of the misery he it had borne earlier, and looked into the rain as they drove towards the sunlight filtering down through the clouds in the distance.

* * *

"Rise n' shine, Sunshine. Here's your stop," a voice stabbed harshly into Alfred's dreams, worming its way through his slumber and jerking impatiently on his subconscious. He groaned. Just moments before, his mind had been filled with the happy ending of his movie, involving him swimming - literally - in cash, with a Playboy bunny simpering on his arm and a Gentleman crying under his foot. Now…

"Hey. Jones. Wake up, or I'll throw you out," the voice persisted. Alfred swatted at the air, sitting up with a yawn. He stretched slightly, a slight wave of embarrassment sweeping through him at the thought of falling asleep in the driver's car. Almost instantaneously, he remembered the cause for the ride, and his misery returned to him tenfold. So they'd arrived, had they? He rubbed his eyes behind his glasses, glaring at the foggy window obscuring his view.

"Aw, but it's raining out there! It's so cold and wet and-"

"Just look, Jones!" the driver snapped. "It's fine weather, now get out before you give me a headache," the driver replied wearily. Alfred jumped in his seat, removing his hands from his eyes and peering out of the window.

Sure enough, the rain was absent, the only trace left of its gloomy existence being the small spatterings of water dotted around the canvas of the window. In place of the grey weather was sunshine, accompanied by a misty rainbow, filling the sky with its colours and making everything seem brighter. Alfred smiled as his gaze fell upon the bleding between blue and green, and realised about how nice they looked together - the green was fresh, like the catalyst that precipitated the rainbow, whereas the blue was almost the exact same colour as his own azure orbs constantly obscured by his foggy glasses.

_Like the rain obscures the rainbow, _he thought, wondering when his pondering had become so profound and deep, and rubbed at his smudged glasses with a sigh.

"Thanks for the ride, man. I'll see ya later," he said, feeling more optimistic now that the weather was cheerful; the driver gave a short nod in reply and gestured to the car door. Alfred nodded, grabbing his hefty suitcase lying next to him (Matthew had _finally_ let him in his own house to pack, after much bargaining and a thorough explanation of the job he was gaining)and stumbling out of the taxi into the clear sunshine. He blinked rapidly as the taxi drove off, allowing his eyes to get used to the sun blinding him and reflecting off his glasses. Once his eyes had adjusted, he looked around to glance at his surrounding. He grumbled in annoyance.

He was in the middle of nowhere! Trees in every shade of Fall surrounded him, painting an artful scene of red, gold and yellow, and yet all he wanted to do right now was mow 'em all down with a chainsaw. For fuck's sake, why was he in the middle of the countryside? Okay, so he knew that his new 'Master' (which felt _so _Goddamn weird to say) lived in the outskirts of a town, in a seclusive mansion, but this? This was just a freakin' forest! Rubbing his temples, he wondered which way to go. He could follow the main road down to see where it lead to, but he had a feeling that Mr Fancy Pants Arthur wouldn't live on the roadside…which left only one option. To his left, lay a path. A small, insignificant dust path, just big enough to squeeze a car into, leading into a shady patch of dark, intimidating woodland area. Alfred twitched, his old fear of the supernatural coming back to him. Now this was _just_ like in a movie - the hero is left alone, and decides to take the haunting path in the dark woods, only to be ambushed by some killer psycho ghosts! Alfred shuddered. He couldn't go there! He looked back at the dull road, watching as it lead through the clear, bright countryside, showing no sign of leading anywhere. He could be walking all day if he went that way, and there must have been a reason the driver delivered him to this particular point in the road. So there was only one option - take the ominous, dark route to the depths of hell. Wonderful. Feeling a worrying sense of foreboding as he moved forward, Alfred stepped down onto the dark path.

As he ventured into the dark paint splatter of Autumn leaves, every movement made him jump. He sniffed angrily, and stomped a little harder as he walked to scare any wandering ghosts away. Oh God… what if his 'Master' was a ghost!? He could enslave him eternally, making Alfred work for his every ghostly need, and then he'd turn _Alfred_ into a ghost, or even a zombie!…Alfred knew he was being utterly ridiculous at this point, but when the rainbow was now obscured by mean, menacing trees, and every noise seemed to echo threateningly, anything was possible in Alfred's mind. He whimpered, imagining the ghoul version of his new Master whisking him away into the night, where he would scare him to death, or get some ghoul maids to devour his soul…

"GAH! Alfred, stop it, stop it, stop it, stop it NOW!" he chanted out loud, cringing as his loud voice startled some birds (crows?…), sending them flying from the canopy of trees and filling the tiny gaps of blue beyond. The American growled, and started running through the undergrowth. Where did the path go? Panting from exertion, he paused at a tree, resting his hand against the gnarled bark. This was stupid, he wasn't getting anywhere at this rate! He needed to get out of here. But when did this forest end? Maybe it didn't. Maybe it was just an endless path, to lure innocent, handsome young men into the dark abyss of doom, wherein ghosts and ghouls would ambush the poor souls, and kill them and eat them and… Alfred gave a screech as _something_ tickled his left foot. With what was certainly most _not_ a whimper, he was sent scrambling through the gloom and desperately tried to spot any source of outside light, anywhere, _anywhere…_

The end appeared in the distance. Practically whining in relief, Alfred ran for it, tripping on various roots and rocks as he ran. Just before he reached the sunlight, however, his foot became entangled with a particularly vicious root that ensnared his sneakers in its gnarled grip, and he was sent sprawling onto the dusty ground still damp from the earlier rain.

He stood up slowly, groaning as rough material rubbed his skinned knees through two new rips in his already scruffy jeans. Just _great. _If he gained any more tears in them, he may as well walk around in his boxers! Once he was standing, he rubbed off his suit and trousers as best he could, grimacing at the mud stains on the blazer and on his legs. Hopefully his new Master wouldn't think he liked rolling around in the dirt at a hobby - he needed to give a good impression, and looking like a relative of the Swamp Thing wasn't exactly on his top 10 list of impressive qualities.

His pessimistic behaviour from earlier quickly emptying his pool of patience and dumping it unceremoniously on the ground, he briskly collected his suitcase and strode onward into the sunlight, blinking for the second time that day as he got used to the brightness. When his vision cleared, he noticed a large house shortly ahead. With a cry of 'finally!', he walked towards until he arrived at a quaint gate surrounded by neat gravel. A small but grand Mini Cooper was parked nearby, and Alfred laughed slightly at the brand. So this dude liked it British, huh? He looked out across the rusted wrought-iron gate towards the mansion in interest, wondering what the rest of the place was like.

* * *

The sight that greeted him amazed him. His eyes widened considerably at the sight despite the glaring sunlight, and he raised his eyebrows in silent wonder. The place was wonderful; with a quaint green garden and a beautifully detailed house. With the sunny terrain enclosed by gently swaying trees, the scene was completely different than the harsh city lights and sounds Alfred was used to, although the change didn't seem to be all that horrific in hindsight. Now, Alfred wasn't one to normally appreciate good architecture or botanical practises, but this was… something else.

The house was made of a fine red brick, and ivy adorned every small crack, filling it out to look intentional and framing the ornate windows and quaint front door in intricate patterns in ways that would make even a weed-killer swoon. The path Alfred was now standing on led up to the front door in the form of a dainty gravel path, and surrounding this path and the mansion was the garden.

It was a beautiful sight; flowers of every shape and colour adorned the sides, while small trees cut neatly into ovals dotted the lush green grass. In the centre of one side of the path stood an apple tree, its proud leaves shining green even in the Fall season and overripe apples looking ready to burst as they hung from the rich brown branches. Alfred smiled at the beautiful scene, figuring that Kirkland was very lucky to have such a diligent gardener. But then, it made sense for old rich guys to have sparkling, well kept gardens; it was just like in those cliché, Disney-styled films he adored so much. Cautiously, as if worried that he would disturb the calm atmosphere with his brash personality, he stepped through the gate and began to walk down the path towards the mansion.

His feet crunched on every step of the gravel, making obnoxious sounds in the somewhat peaceful scene, and he winced internally. Wow, he really must be nervous - getting anxious over a bit of gravel! What was he, a wimp? No, he was Alfred F Jones - the heroic man unafraid to make a bit of noise with some flailing gravel! Still, he hastened his steps, trying to reach the house before he made a complete fool of himself by tripping up (again) or something equally embarrassing.

The door ahead of him opened. He straightened his back subconsciously, smoothing back his unkempt hair and scowling as that _one little tuft_ continued to stick up determinedly. The door opened fully, and the young man raised his eyebrows as a stern but pretty-looking maid stepped out daintily, perching on the front porch and glancing towards him with an acidic green gaze. As he approached her, she peered down at him haughtily through her polished glasses from her position on the steps. Unperturbed, he allowed her a moment longer to gaze at his manly manliness as the sun's rays calmed and cleared her vision. As she managed to get a proper look at him, her pale cheeks coloured slightly and she averted her gaze. Alfred grinned, pleased that he had actually retained his good looks after all. That receptionist must've been blind! After all, he was fairly used to his affect on the females of the world. He guessed it must be his talent or something - being a gloriously handsome wild child!

"Hey honey, I know I'm a sexy beast but ya don't need to clarify it!" he joked awkwardly, slightly perturbed by the stiff silence. He noted in stifled amusement as her cheeks flared up even more - but this time with anger.

She opened her pretty mouth indignantly. "Actually, I'll have you know that -"

"HOWDY!"

Alfred's eyes widened in puzzlement as the short maid before him suddenly face-planted into the ground with a cry, hair flying wildly and arms thrashing about. In her place stood another maid with tanned skin and a light brown bob, grinning triumphantly as she bounced up and down with vigour. However, whatever effect she was supposed to be producing with this show didn't affect him, as she just so happened to be rather… well endowed - and his eyes weren't exactly focused on her face right now. Alfred squinted, watching her chest bounce about at a different time than the girl herself as she grinned at him. Normally, any lad would be drooling and hastily grabbing a camera at this point, but all Alfred could feel was a sense of vague indifference mixed with a slight nauseous feeling at the fact that her breasts appeared to not be attached to the rest of her body. He swallowed, looking up to her face, and watched as the first girl (with a thankfully smaller chest size) stood grumpily, wincing as she rubbed her nose and glaring at both Alfred and the other girl. She stalked over to the taller girl, whispering maliciously at her while the other just raised her hands in defence and giggled helplessly, now completely ignoring the third party's presence. Alfred sighed, annoyed already with the energetic girl and her grumpy co-worker's little double-act. Was he seriously going to have to work with these people? He groaned mentally, waiting for one of them to re-notice him.

Eventually, the girl with the glasses seemed to realise he was there waiting (im)patiently for them to finish their bickering. She turned to him dutifully, a haughty expression lingering on her pretty face.

"I presume you're the new Butler?" she said briskly, and Alfred was surprised to hear she had a British accent.

Shrugging, he confirmed her cold query. "Yes, yep, yeppers, ma'am!" he grinned, and extended his hand for her to shake. She flushed again, and took in daintily, only flinching slightly at his rather enthusiastic shaking technique.

She stood back a second later, speaking calmly. "W-well, we here are the two maids of the Kirkland household. I'm Alice Kirkland, and this here is…"

"I'm Amelia Jones!" the second girl interrupted jovially.

Alfred's eyes widened.

"Wait… You share my surname?" he asked incredulously.

Amelia shrugged with a grin. "Oh, I guess I do! Hey, that's awesome," she giggled, slapping his wrist cheerfully.

"Um… yeah, awesome. But wait a second… Alice, did you say your surname is the same as my new employer? And, uh… did you say you were the _only_ two maids here?" he said in a rush, puzzled by the strange coincidences and odd circumstances.

Alice sighed irritably. "Yes to both of those. I am a relative of Master Kirkland - somewhat distant, I'll admit - but I needed a job over here in America. My… '_BFF_'," she continued, spitting out the phrase with evident disdain, "…Was also in need of a job. We are both maids, although I also work as the cook. We are the only two maids here, because it is only a small mansion. Do you have a problem with that?"

Alfred beamed at her, although he was still slightly bemused at the situation, and slightly concerned about her being the cook. After all, the British were renowned for their tasteless cooking…

"Not at all, ma'am," he grinned, making the rather short girl frown yet again.

"There is really no need to call me that - you are my superior once you start, sir. Now, if I may be so kind as to show you where you will be working?" she said quickly, opening the door and gesturing for him to go inside. Alfred followed gladly, looking back briefly to see the sun beginning to wearily melt down, bathing the pretty estate in light and leaving it glowing in warm shades of orange.

_Well, so long old life. Here comes Alfred the Butler! _he thought wearily, letting his feet fall behind the thresh-line of the floor. Dragging his battered old suitcase behind him, he sighed in a certain melancholy tune as Alice swept him in hastily. He bit his lip in anxiety as Amelia closed the door behind him, effectively cutting him off from his old life and trapping him in the new.

* * *

**A/N: I promise you there will be more Kirkland next chapter. Be patient dear readers, the USUK will arrive shortly! Farewell for now; I will try my hardest to update tomorrow but my computer has been oh so unreliable lately so idk ╮(─▽─)╭ **


	5. Of Meetings and Mistakes

**A/N: Hello again, I'm back wth a morning chapter today (at least for me). I f****i**gured I'd try to post **i**t before go**i**ng to school so I can maybe post another chapter when get home. But that depends how much rev**i**s**i**on I have to do, because my GCSE mocks are fast approach**i**ng u_u  
Anyway, here's chapter 5 - and f**i**nally some Arthur and Alfred **i**nteract**i**on! Enjoy ヽ(´ ▽ ` )ﾉ

**D****iscla****imer: The story may be m****ine, but the characters are certa****inly not!**

* * *

"And, over here we have the kitchen… you're not allowed in here though, of course, as you Americans wreck all the food you make," Alice grumbled, throwing an arm towards the neatly tiled kitchen floor and ignoring Amelia's scornful laugh at her statement.

"Aw, sis, you know you Brits are just as bad - if not worse!" she drawled, linking her arm with the now stony faced maid beside her. Alfred just stared in bemusement at the two bickering servants, directing his gaze elsewhere as he gazed around the impressive mansion.

It was a truly marvelous place, with fine ornaments and clean wallpaper lining the walls with soft rugs thrown effortlessly onto the wooden floor. However, in spite of the rather fine decor, Alfred found the entire place to be rather… plain for his tastes. Having grown up in a stylish American house, he was used to his rich father's modern ideas, and knowing the full potential of a large house he wondered what was with the plain choice of decoration. Why weren't there any bars stocked up to the brim with liquor, or expensive indoor pools supplying attractive beach bunnies? The only bunnies Alfred could see were the dust bunnies lurking under every drawer or expensive vase. On that note, Alfred noticed that although at a first glance, the mansion interior appeared smart and well-cleaned, with a second look it appeared rather drab; he could see the wispy, threadbare spider webs hanging lazily from the greying ceiling, accompanied by the woodworm infested cupboards and the lint stuffed in every nook and cranny. Again, Alfred was struck with the feeling that something wasn't quite right about the mansion - where were the servants, dusting every surface or polishing the floor? His mind flickered back to Alice's earlier statement claiming them to be the only two maids in the house. Could it be that they were also the only two servants as well?… Alfred scratched his head as he tried to figure out the situation of the worker-less house he currently stood in.

"Yo, Butler. Something wrong?" Amelia's voice cut into his thoughts sharply.

Alfred jumped slightly, realising he'd been spacing out yet again, and shook his head rapidly. "Nah, not really. It's just that… well… you _know…_" He sighed in defeat. "Are you two the only other workers in this house?"

Alice stared pointedly at him as she folded her arms. "What part of 'only two maids' don't you understand?" she growled dryly, and Alfred blanched.

"I didn't think you meant you were the only company I'd get!" he cried. "I thought there'd be other dudes, who I'd actually want to talk to - uh, not that I don't want to talk to you guys!" he backtracked hurriedly, but the damage had been done. Alice's expression shut down, leaving her face icy, while Amelia frowned and cracked her knuckles menacingly.

"Look, if you think we're just gonna _bore_ you with our gender, then you can just go fuck yourse-mmph!" Amelia blurted as Alice quickly slapped a hand over the American girl's mouth.

"Don't scare him off!" she hissed angrily to Amelia, and then turned back to her new Butler, expression saccharine-sweet. "Sir, why don't I introduce you to our master?" she simpered. He nodded gratefully, glad for the tension-breaker, and followed Amelia's gesture. However, as he walked onward he heard a mutter behind him.

"After all, our Master is a _male_ so I suppose you'll get on with _him_ just fine."

Alfred winced, but continued to walk, horrified that he'd already messed up two of the only possible relationships in the empty house.

_Why do I fail so much at life? _he whined internally, wishing he could start his entire existence over again. That way he could actually do _well;_ he'd spend his money wisely, get a good, _nice_ job, and settle down with a sweet wife, have children and live happily ever after -

"His office is here, _sir. _But feel free to just walk _straight_ on into _our_ rooms," a hurt voice called from behind him, interrupting his thoughts with a snap. Alfred came to a halt as he realised he'd just walked halfway up a small set of stairs leading to two rooms, while the maids waited impatiently by a door down below. He wanted to punch himself. Now they'd think he was a peeping pantie pervert as well now! He may as well shoot himself now, as the look the British girl was directed at his forehead certainly had the potential to pierce skin.

_And she's related to my master? Holy Hero… _he moaned in his head, hopping down the steps two at a time before landing at their feet with an apologetic grin.

"Sorry sweeties. I was daydreaming a bit there… no harm done though, right?" he blinked desperately at them; Alice sighed in defeat as she shook her head and promptly headed towards the ornate door before them.

Amelia continued to glare at the new Butler as she gestured for him to follow. "Hah… Well, I'll forgive you this time, but don't make a mistake like that again or you'll get a kick where it counts!" she growled, and Alfred nodded hastily in agreement. What was it with people wanting to attack his junk these past few days? First Mattie, and now this crazy maid…

His thoughts were interrupted when Alice snatched his suitcase from his, and gave a sharp rap on the door they stood by. "I'll take that upstairs," she muttered, and raised her eyebrows fractionally at the harsh voice that burst from the other side of the door.

"Enter."

Alfred grimaced at the icy tone, and gave a yelp when Alice opened the door as he leaned against it. He half walked, half fell into the room, and squinted in the gloomy darkness. Hadn't this dude heard of light? Maybe he was a vampire… Alfred shuddered slightly as the door was closed behind him with a premonitory click.

* * *

He quickly regained his composure once he stood in the dark room, standing up to his full height and flexing his muscles with a huff. He needed to give a good impression to this guy at least, dammit! Now he just needed to remember the impressive introduction he'd rehearsed on the way to his new home. Something polite; nice and calm and effective, that would show his employer that he was the perfect man for the job -

"YO! Alfred incoming! Don't fear, the hero is here!"

…

Okay, so maybe that wasn't _quite _what he'd rehearsed.

Scowling at the floor now, he cursed his stupid mouth for deciding what to say for him - but it would have to do. He'd learnt too many times recently that you couldn't cry over spilt milk. Or at least, you _could_, but you'd soon find out that everyone would just yell at you for being a whiny little brat - but he was rambling. With a heavy sigh, he glanced up and offered a nervous grin, looking hopefully towards the office chair. The chair was as gloomy as the rest of the room, filled with a dark suit and top hat - his new master in them, of course.

Said master tilted the top hat slightly as he looked up, but the shadow fell across his face, hiding it from view. He gave a low, skeptical growl, and Alfred bit his lip as a new question struck him. Just how old was this guy? As a gentleman, he was probably old; they were all dandy old men with sticks up their asses, right? - and he certainly looked and sounded it as he sat stiffly in his chair. There was also the fact that Francis had always preferred hitting on older men and women…

Or inanimate objects, but that's another story.

His boss made another noise, an irritable sigh that just _screamed_ 'I'm an old man and I don't give a shit about you', and Alfred felt a sense of foreboding strike him. However, he took this as a clue to re-introduce himself in more detail, and wasted no time in slaughtering the awkward silence seeping into the room like a turbulent gas, ready to rob him of any confidence he had that remained.

"Uh, hey old man!" Shit, he hadn't meant to say that. What was it with his mouth deciding what to say before he could today?

His master gave a short snort of derision, and Alfred continued on blatantly.

"I'm the awesome Alfred Jones, and I'm here to eat burgers and kick ass… but I'm all outta ass so gimme a burger!" he cheered with a cheesy wink, but faltered at the silence that followed. This time, there was no immediate reply, and Alfred stiffened in a sudden burst of shock. Oh God, what if -

"Uh, old man, are you dead!?" he gasped, suddenly starting to panic. Old men died all the time - what if he'd given him a heart attack from stress or something!? Just as he was about to whip out his phone and call 911, an angry huff denied him his frenzied thoughts.

"Of course not you half-witted imbecile!" his master snapped, and Alfred gave a sigh of relief.

"Ah, that's good! I was hoping you weren't-"

"Don't interrupt me!" his master interrupted him with a growl, and then seemed to calm down somewhat as he introduced himself. "I am Arthur Kirkland, although _you_ should call me Sir."

He stood up suddenly, brushing down his grey suit trousers as he did so, and Alfred raised his eyebrows in confusion. Either this old man was bent over quite badly in his age, or he was kind of _short…_

However, Alfred was successfully dragged away from any negative thoughts as his new boss, Arthur Kirkland, lifted his hat.

_Holy shit._

Under the top hat, lay the face of the most handsome man Alfred had ever seen. Soft, blonde hair fell about his face, framing the pale skin and accentuating large, forest green eyes, which seemed to draw Alfred in with their depth and - wait, what the hell was he thinking!? This was his new master, and more importantly, a _guy._ He gulped as the Gentleman ignored his lack of response, and turned to open the blinds behind him. Alfred got a perfect view of his backside, and was horrified to find he had the sudden urge to lick his lips.

_Well, at least there's now ass to be had… _the dirty part of his mind breathed perversely, and Alfred nearly slapped his face to shut his thoughts up.

_Notgoodnotgoodnotgood! _he cried internally, and tried to compose himself before his master could spot his infatuation-that-was-certainly-not-an-infatuation. 

Arthur turned back around as light spilled into the gloomy room, and Alfred nearly started crying in frustration at the realisation that the sunlight just made this man all the more appetising - no, he did _not_ just think that! Arthur frowned at him, brow lowering dramatically and scrunching up his fair features.

It was then that Alfred noticed his eyebrows.

…

Holy hell, they were massive! Like fuzzy _rectangles_ above his eyes! How could he not have noticed them before? As mirth bubbled up inside him, Alfred's eyes widened considerably as he realised he couldn't prevent was he was about to do.

With a stifled snuffle, he promptly burst into unconstrained giggles. The Gentleman's frown increased even more at the sudden laughing fit, but it only served to enhance the caterpillars on his face more and make Alfred laugh harder.

Arthur scowled at him in disdain. "_Do_ tell me what the matter is, as I am at a loss to determine your evident upset," he growled dryly, crossing his arms as he waited for the American to stop his almost hysteric laughing.

"I'm sorry, Arth - sir! It's just… your face, and then…your _eyebrows…_Oh god!…" Alfred howled, really only to distract himself from the fact he had the strangest urge to _stroke_ the eyebrows currently set into a magnificent scowl on the Englishman's face.

"Do you have a problem with my eyebrows, good sir?" Arthur snapped, pulling down his top hat over his face violently to shield his abused brows from any more harmful insults heading his way. Alfred eventually ceased laughing, his laughter draining out as he realised the potential damage he'd just caused. But they were just so… _furry…_

"S-sorry sir, it's just…I wasn't expecting…And it…" he gasped, wiping his tears of laughter from behind the windows of his glasses.

Arthur glared, stony-faced, at his mirthful expression. "I suggest you stop talking _now,_ before I castrate you, git," he muttered, and motioned to Alfred's attire. "And for God's sakes, do something about that horrific excuse for a suit. It makes me want to violently vomit just _looking_ at the damn thing!"

Alfred pouted, wrapping his arms around himself defensively. Now, that wasn't very nice - the guy may be good looking (not that Alfred_ cared_ or anything), but boy did he have a mean attitude! He sighed as he looked down at his much-loved sneakers, worn and grubby from age and covered in dust from his earlier trek in the woods. He was more than a little put out at the man's behaviour (read: infatuated), and retaliated strongly, as he was prone to do in these situations.

"Well, my suit may not be snobby like yours but at least I don't have a poof accent!" he retorted childishly, tugging at his blazer like a nervous pre-schooler as he rubbed his feet together.

Arthur's brows hitched up his forehead in response, and he stalked towards the younger man. "Now, you listen here!" he snapped, and started to stride round the small office as he gave a lecture on 'the correct type of suit for a new job' and how 'Americans may have tortured and ripped apart the English language, but it's still the same bloody context', while all the time Alfred stood there wondering how long this was going to take. As he spoke, however, Alfred found his eyes were drawn to the soft lips of the man near him, and realised how efficient his mouth was. In fact, it was so efficient that Alfred should put it to better use by pinning the Brit against a wall and - wait, _stop_, inappropriate thoughts!

_Come on, no homo Alfred_… he shook his head desperately, trying to shake off any lingering thoughts of kissing and men in the same stanza from his mind.

"_No!? _What do you mean no? I was only making a statement!" Arthur snapped suddenly, bringing Alfred out from his thoughts yet again as he held his stony glare at the American's eye level.

Alfred ground his teeth together in frustration. "_Nooo_, I wasn't shaking my head at _you_! I was shaking out the little… uh… thoughts in my head," he finished lamely, realising suddenly how stupid and childish and, you know, _insane _he sounded. Not like a posh butler at all.

Kirkland raised a bushy eyebrow in response, mouth twitching up into a dry smirk. "So you weren't listening to me, hmm?"

God, this man was infuriating! Every time Alfred tried to explain something, he just had to go and twist his words around to make his actions an offence! The American huffed in annoyance - maybe silence was the best way to cope with this dude; he'd obviously had a stick shoved up his ass when he was a kid or something.

_I know something else I'd like to shove up there, _Alfred's inner pervert cackled yet again, and he gagged on thin air in shock. How did he even _know_ about that sort of stuff!? Oh god… he needed to get out of the room and clear his dirty head. However, Mr. Kirkland seemed to have no intentions of letting him go yet, and promptly stepped back as he gave a derisive huff.

"Right then, you can start your job now. I presume you have everything you need here, so I shall allow you time later to sort out your belongings and more. Now, though, I need you to take the bins out, because there are weeds filling the bin and I have _so_ much paperwork to discard - and after that you need to call Mr. Edelstein and tell him the concert's off for tonight; you'll find the number next to the phone book - and after that you also need to call Ms. Héderváry and tell her to bloody well _stop _trying to send me…uh… _inappropriate_ videos of various men - not that it's any of your business why! - and then you need to… and then…" Alfred spaced out as Arthur's list of duties went on and on, only perking up as Arthur told him lunch would be at 1:00 pm. After a while of zoning out to the Gentleman's drone, he clicked back to reality as he realised Arthur was waiting for him to say something.

"Right! Yep, I _definitely_ listened to all that - uh, so it's the carpet cleaning first, right?" he took a stab in the dark, wincing internally as Arthur rolled his eyes and gave a frustrated huff.

"_Honestly_, you really don't seem that well suited to being a Butler. Do you have _any_ qualifications?"

Alfred said nothing, and Arthur groaned.

"I _knew_ I shouldn't have trusted that frog when he told me about you… Now, get out of here and start working, or I shan't pay you for a week," the Gentleman said primly, waving towards the door with a gloved hand. Alfred gladly obliged, pulling open the door and jumping in shock as two maids nearly fell on him from their position, their ears pressed against the now elsewhere door. They leapt back immediately, grabbing a random broom each and hurriedly started to sweep the door. Arthur looked on in confusion while Alfred huffed in amusement. So, he was working with creepy-stalker-maids now? God, this was some messed-up movie he was in!… he gave a slight chuckle, but his good mood left him quickly as a voice behind him demanded him to start working _now_. With a short glare backwards, Alfred hopped into the hallway to see what he could do. He had the strangest feeling that his new job was going to _suck…_

* * *

**A/N: So how was that? Although I have wr****itten these characters before, ****it's the f****irst t****ime do****ing ****it ****in a mult****i-chapter story - so I hope I'm character****is****ing them r****ight but please let me now ****if you th****ink there's anyth****ing I could change! I just want to say thank you all for the follows, faves, and even rev****iew on th****is story, and that anyth****ing l****ike that ****is hugely apprec****iated and ****insp****ires me to upload chapters etc. So thank you! And I'm glad the genderbent vers****ions of Arthur and Alfred were not****iced... I love those characters and couldn't help but ****include them ****in the story.  
****~Unt****il next t****ime!~ (・∀・ )**


	6. Of Disputes and Diligence

**A/N: And here's chapter 6, albeit somewhat late - my apologies! There's some tension amount****ing ****in th****is chapter, but I hope you guys enjoy the apprehension ****************╮(─▽─)╭**

**************Reviewers, followers and readers, thank you!**

******************Disclaimer: My intense affection for these characters does nothing to quell the tragic fact that they are not mine.**

* * *

The rest of the morning passed in a grey, miserable blur. Alfred went about his duties like a zombie, robotically performing the tasks set for him with a constant scowl on his normally optimistic face. Although he was blatantly unaware of it, Alfred hadn't done a good job of being a Butler so far due to his gloomy frame of mind and general inexperience. His mind was elsewhere, and he barely registered what he did throughout the morning. Arthur had realised this with clarity when he received a sudden call on his mobile from Mr. Edelstein, which he answered only to have his dignity attacked as the posh man lamented about the 'obnoxious pig' who had apparently insulted his playing ability and told him that the concert was off due to the fact that Arthur was supposedly having issues with his _sexuality,_ of all things! Arthur, to say the least, was not impressed, and promptly cornered Alfred before lunch to have a 'few words' with the oblivious American lad. Of course, Alfred interpreted this as his last warning broken, and mentally prepared himself to get fired. He braced himself as the older man stalked towards him, eyes burning with anger and feet colliding with the floor harshly at his every step.

"You called him a terrible musician!" Arthur ranted, throwing his hands up in desperation.

The American winced, and tried to keep his cool as he shrugged nonchalantly. "Sorry, I couldn't think of what else to say… s'hard to think of excuses on the spot," he mumbled immaturely, pouting at the infuriated Briton before him as he realised he _had_ been kinda rude to the pianist. …And Arthur, come to think of it, if indirectly. He winced. "Anyway, shouldn't you be worried about… uh… me calling you gay?"

Arthur flinched suddenly, and took a step back. "Why, do you have a problem with gay people? N-not that I personally am, of course!" he stuttered; Alfred groaned at the misinterpretation.

"Not like that," he growled, "I _meant _that you should be mad 'cause I lied about you as well as insulting that piano guy."

Arthur bit his lip angrily. "Well, unlike _some people_, I'm a Gentleman who respects other people and their feelings! And it would do you some good to actually think of other people instead of yourself all the time!"

"I wasn't thinking clearly! You've given me so much work that I had to rush and when he started ordering me around I couldn't help but insult him!"

"You're a _butler!_ You're supposed to take orders without complaint!" Arthur cried, taking another step closer into the American's proximity and glaring up into his eyes. Alfred gave a low growl in the back of his throat. This wasn't _fair!_ He wasn't supposed to be persecuted on his first day! He leaned down, staring right into Arthur's eyes as he tried to burn the shorter man with his gaze.

"I didn't _mean_ to, I said so!" he hissed hotly.

"Oh, how nice of you to realise your mistakes _now,"_ the other man spat back, unyielding to the taller man's fiery stare. Mentally slapping his forehead, Alfred realised his master wasn't going to step down. Although it pained him to stain his pride, he may as well just get this over with…

"Well - I'm sorry!" he cried, staring into the burning green eyes before him.

Wait. Burning, beautiful green eyes… uh…

"I…I'm sorry," he coughed as he repeated himself awkwardly, suddenly noticing the close proximity they were in and how entrancing Arthur's eyes were up close. All the flecks of green and amber and -

Arthur faltered, suddenly noticing the closeness as well, and tried to clear his throat.

"Y-you…"

"OI! GUUUYS! LUNCH IS SERVED!" Amelia's voice sliced cleanly between them, cutting off the link from moments before as she yelled for them. The two jumped apart as the string of tension broke, and Alfred blushed slightly with a glare.

"I still don't like you, old man," he pouted, and Arthur frowned in return.

"The feeling's mutual, brat," he snorted, and stepped back as Alfred ran for the kitchen with the sudden realisation that there was _food_ available.

However, as Arthur watched the youth disappear into the hallway, he found he couldn't quite stop the frantic fluttering of the butterflies nestling in his stomach; he didn't think it had anything to do with the fact that he was about to have lunch made by a terrible cook, as it felt somewhat… positive. Apologetic crystal eyes, and he was so tall… Struggling with the feelings he'd not heard from for a long time, he shook his head hurriedly and walked towards the dining room with a heavy sigh. It just wouldn't do.

* * *

Alfred retched as he ran to the bathroom, his mind filled with disgust and his mouth filled with… _something._ Actually, it was only Alice's homemade meat pie, but Alfred's internal warning sings had risen immediately when she presented it to him, gagging at the burnt-to-a-crisp pastry, bog-like filling and smell rivalling that of a dumpster. He'd eaten it, of course, but he'd felt ill just minutes afterwards - and if the stench wasn't enough, the _taste_ of the damn thing was enough to make a grown man cry! …Or at least make him want to puke aggressively, which was the predicament Alfred was currently in as he searched for the restroom with growing desperation. Amelia trailed behind him uncertainly, looking a little green as well but still swallowing as she guided the gagging youth towards the washroom. Arthur strode after them, eyebrows twitching in annoyance as he followed the pair. As Alfred spotted the glorious place known as the bathroom, he leapt inside and, practically plastering his face inside the toilet, threw up with vigour. Amelia stood awkwardly, shrugging as a frowning, disapproving Arthur and an extremely pissed off Alice joined her to stare at the hurling lad kneeling on the floor in front of them.

"Come on, it's not_ that _bad. You're probably just overreacting," Arthur grumbled, as Alice huffed in irritation and glared at the lot of them.

"It was just a bad lot he got! You normally _love_ my food, sir," she pouted, glaring at her master reproachfully.

Arthur flinched, and faltered as he tugged at his shirt collar. "W-well, I wouldn't go as far to say I _love_ it… it's not that terrible though!" he replied stiffly, averting his gaze from Alice to the American youth only to reel in disgust at the retching sounds he was making.

Alice snarled at them all, and stomped away in evident frustration. "Well _next time_, we'll just let Amelia cook _hot dogs_, shall we?" she yelled aggressively as she stormed off. Amelia hastily followed her with a sigh, effectively leaving the Gentleman alone with Alfred as he stood in the doorway. Arthur coughed awkwardly as the Butler looked up from the toilet bowl weakly.

"Ain't she gonna get fired for being disrespectful?" Alfred enquired weakly, wincing as his stomach growled in anger; he gave a hearty belch as he turned back towards the toilet bowl with a groan.

Arthur huffed in disapproval. "It's not normally that terrible… she must have been annoyed today so I'll forgive her this once," he muttered, and blinked as the American scowled at him.

"So _she's_ allowed to insult you, storm off in a strop and nearly poison you without you batting an eyelid, but when I say just one _teensy-weensy_ little wrong thing to your musical boyfriend you turn into a prepubescent girl and start whining at me, huh?" he snapped, and stood up promptly.

Arthur gawked at the accusation. "Roderich is _not_ my lover, you deficient fool! And I've known Alice for a long time, I'll have you know! She's a dear relative of mine, and if I snap at her too much she'll leave, and when she leaves, Amelia will leave as well!" he cried angrily, and jabbed a finger towards Alfred.

The American lad flinched, halting his subtle attempt to edge away before a rant started. "I didn't realise -"

"And you!" Arthur interrupted with a cry. "I have to snap at you or you'll be insolent and work badly and I'll be forced to fire you - or you'll end up getting bored and leave me! And you certainly can't leave! Y-you can't." He stumbled slightly on his words, glaring up at the taller lad almost desperately. "You won't leave, will you? Everyone else left…" The question was asked with a wide-eyed naivety that looked odd on the normally frowning man, and Alfred wondered what he could do to help - but Arthur glanced away as if to appear nonchalant a second later, seeming fine. "You'd better not, wanker!" he added under his breath, and Alfred's irritation returned as swiftly as it had left.

"Hey, don't worry, I won't leave… unless you carry on being mean to me!" he bargained, placing his hands on his hips as he glared at his employer.

Arthur straightened up suddenly, any traces of previous insecurity completely gone by now. "Don't be ridiculous. I don't make deals with servants; it goes against my work ethic. I was being perfectly reasonable; I just need you to work hard," he said primly as he headed into the hallway. "And _do _remember to flush the toilet when you're done puking your insides up. Oh, and clean the rest of the bathroom while you're at it," he added thoughtfully, leaving Alfred to stand and wonder why it was impossible for him to win at anything in life.

_Fine. You want hard work, Arthur Kirkland, then I'll give you some, _he thought bitterly, his mind fuelled by anger, and thinking quickly, grabbed the hot tap and got to work.

* * *

"Now, where does he keep it?" Alfred grumbled as he opened the fifth cupboard in the impressive kitchen on his search for the latest ingredient for his pranking. Amelia giggled as she stood 'guard' by the kitchen door, her earlier huffiness long forgotten in the excitement of pranking her stuffy master. Alfred hadn't actually intended for her to discover his plans on wrecking his duties, but when a girl walks in on you throwing sink water extravagantly around a bathroom with unconstrained delight you've really got to explain the situation. He'd been worried that she's run and tell Arthur, but luckily for him Amelia seemed to have no qualms with him 'playing pranks' on the Gentleman (although it was really more revenge…but Amelia didn't need to know that) and even offered to help; hence her current position at the kitchen as she stayed on the lookout for any wandering Brits that went by the name of Arthur or Alice. Alfred had only known Alice for a short time and yet he had already fast picked up on her 'no Americans in the kitchen' rule, and also feared her violent temper. He floundered, furiously opening cupboards and looking on shelves as he searched for the next part of his revenge. Eventually, he spotted the treasure, lying inconspicuously under the sink as if trying to escape his sharp view. But the bottle was no match for Alfred the Hero! With a confident grin, he grabbed the prize and stood up hastily.

"Calling agent Amy: Got the bottle; let's go go go!" he spoke into a non-existent radio in a whisper, giving her the thumbs up cheerfully. She smiled half-nervously and half-excitedly, and with a nod stepped out into the hallway as she waited for the other American to join her. Without wasting any time, Alfred hurried to the door - and then _it_ caught his eye. Oh, no.

The cookie jar.

It sat, dusty with lack of use and oh-so-temptingly tantalising on the shelf in front of him. He wavered, hearing Amelia's hushed warning of 'Arthur's coming!' and shocking himself thoroughly when he ignored it. He bit his lip nervously; if he ran now they could get away with it but… _the cookies were calling him…_

His inner pig poked him sharply in the side, and without a second thought he leapt for the jar, hastily clawing at the cork lid and panicking as he heard Arthur outside.

"Amelia? What are you doing here?" his master's voice rang through the hallway, and Alfred chewed on his cheek as he heard Amelia procrastinating desperately, blabbering something about 'hide and seek' and 'scary Alice'. He tugged at the lid in frustration and rising panic; why wouldn't the damn thing just _open_ -

It opened. The world seemed to go in slow motion, and Alfred could only cringe in horror as he watched a beautiful cascade of succulent cookies fly gracefully through the air… only to land on the shocked-looking Gentleman who had just stepped through the door. Arthur was drenched with the biscuits, and Alfred wailed internally as he saw the crumbs stick to the Gentleman's neatly pressed shirt with no intention of migrating from the clothing any time soon.

_Well, guess that's me fired… _he groaned in his mind, and reached out a hand tentatively to grab at the now empty jar in front of him. Arthur could only splutter incoherently, blinking out the cookie crumbs stuck to his eyebrows and eyelashes. Amelia watched from the sidelines with wide eyes, and Alfred winced as he noticed the tell-tale hand clapped over her slowly grinning mouth.

_Don't laugh don't laugh don't- _

"Oh my gawd! Ha aha aha!" Amelia burst out suddenly, slapping her hand on her knee as she pointed at the cookie-coated Gentleman in front of her. Her giggles were unfortunately infectious, and Alfred wanted to smash his face against the nearest wall as he felt chuckles and snorts being ripped from his throat against his will. He was fully expecting a horrific result - a punch, a slap, a kick or even a knife at his throat. So I'm quite sure you can imagine his surprise when the blushing man before him opened his mouth - and laughed.

Alfred could only stop and stare as the violent 'Gentleman' before him chuckled harder, brushing specks of biscuit from his suit as he inspected himself with a lopsided smile. Alfred couldn't help but think of what a nice sound it was; he hadn't known it was possible for the Brit to sound so… _sweet._ Alfred watched, dumbstruck, as Arthur wobbled slightly on his feet, still giggling quietly whilst flushing delicately, and turned to the slack-jawed American lad.

"I-I guess I've always had a sweet tooth," he stammered, and still giving the occasional hiccough of laughter, backed out of the door. "Don't… don't forget to clean up the m-mess," he mumbled somewhat bashfully, and then bolted for his office.

Amelia, finally calming down somewhat, spun round in surprise. "Did Artie just… _laugh_?" she gasped in disbelief, clutching her heart dramatically as she 'collapsed' to the floor in shock. Alfred realised he was still staring at the cookies scattered on the ground, and looked up with a grin.

"Yeah. Yeah, I guess he did. I'm guessing that's one of the first times he's ever -" he was interrupted with a shout.

"ALFRED! You imbecile! What are you doing in my kitchen! And why, WHY did you make our master upset!?" Alice yelled, stomping into the kitchen with an animalistic growl of anger.

Alfred jumped in surprise, and forgetting about her first comment, frowned up at her. "W-what do you mean upset? He was…he was laughing!" he defended himself, hugging his knees to his chest from his position on the kitchen floor.

Alice's left eyebrow twitched slightly, and she thrust a dainty finger at his angrily. "I just walked into his office to find him covering his face in the dark!" she accused, and Alfred groaned at the Gentleman's actions. Way to give across the wrong impression…

"Well, _yeah_! I mean, he was laughing, and that's what you _do_ when you laugh!" he proclaimed. "He was laughing, I swear! _Laughing_. 'Cos I spilt cookies on him!"

Alice's glare could have pierced his soul. "Yeah, _sure._ Because Arthur _always_ laughs," she growled, and pointed to the cookies. "Pick those up, and throw them away. They can't be eaten now, you useless Butler. Then go and apologise to Mr. Kirkland. My relative cries as little as he laughs, so you must've done something bad."

"…I told you he was _laughing! -"_

"Save it for your master."

Alfred looked pathetically at Amelia; she responded by pointing at Alice in panic and slicing her hand across her throat. Alice spun around, striding out of the kitchen and grabbing Amelia's arm in the process. The American maid followed apologetically, shrugging at Alfred with a sappy smile on her face as if trying to cheer him up. Yeah, as if _that_ were possible - it was almost as impossible as hearing Artie laugh!

But he had done - even if he was pretending not to now, he had _definitely_ been laughing. And it wasn't as if he was an innocent little angle either! After all, all day he had fucking _abused_ Alfred with his stupid… his stupid temperamental-ness! Yeah. As if he was going to go and _apologise_ to Mr. I-can't-decide-whether-to-yell-or-laugh! His anger now restored with full force, Alfred glanced at the clock in the kitchen with a scowl. It was seven o'clock - the perfect time to stop working for the day and go and get pissed at the local bar. He grumbled as he pulled out his phone, unlocking it swiftly and hurriedly texting the trio of his bad friends.

_U better get 2 the pub near RTs house NOW!_

The bleach, originally intended for the prank and long forgotten, lay forlornly on the kitchen floor.


	7. Of Drinks and Denial

**A/N: ****And here's chapter 7. I apologise for the delay, but my computer's being faulty at the moment and it's a couple weeks until I get a new one. Nevertheless, I hope this chapter is to your satisfaction. This was actually one of my favourite chapters to write, as it sets off some plot and… well, you'll have to wait and see. Reviewers and readers, thank you so much!**

** Enjoy~**

**Disclaimer: APH = not mine. /tear slides down cheek**

* * *

Arthur Kirkland sighed and rubbed his bleary eyes tiredly as he sat up in his chair. Why had he fallen asleep? What could have possibly - Oh. Arthur remembered the 'cookie' incident with a grimace, slamming his hand down on the desk before him angrily. It just wasn't_ fair_! He had meant to tell the Butler off, or at least snap at him, but then he'd gone and embarrassed himself in front of both his butler and maid by_ laughing_! He'd tried to mask his unfortunate fit of giggles from Alice, but he had a feeling she'd been able to tell something was up. Sure, it had been funny at the time, but now all that was left was a sinking feeling of shame. He shuddered inwardly; what a bloody great way that little performance was to give a good impression - not.

_'Little brother, stop laughing. You sound so stupid when you laugh!'_ A voice shot through Arthur's memory like a bullet, and he hissed in annoyance as he clutched his head. Oh great, now they were popping back up again just to spite him. Everyone had always hated his laughing - they said it was too feminine and silly, and now Alfred had heard that side of him too… Ugh. So much for being a strong, gentlemanly role model.

Now Alfred probably thought he was bipolar or something; yelling at him one moment and giggling with him the next!

He wondered briefly if his hormones had decided to thus return to him from his teenager years - his mood swings certainly seemed to portray that. Now, however, he just felt tired and irritable - and it was all to do with that blasted American. What was with that guy anyway? He was obnoxious, American, rude, stupid, American… and attractive. Arthur slammed his head down on the desk furiously. No, he couldn't start thinking like that!

_You made a promise to yourself, Arthur Kirkland_, he growled fustratedly in his mind. He was not gay! Not... anything. He didn't do any sort of love; the word was bitter and stupid and he hadn't considered it in a long, long time. Hadn't needed to. Splendid isolation indeed.  
Now, though… he groaned as bright, crystal-clear blue eyes beamed at him in his head, filled with happiness and hope - and, of course, straightness. Because Alfred was straight. Arthur had seen from his window the way the boy had stared at Amelia's chest when she'd burst through the front doors; there was no way the lad could be gay.

Not that Arthur cared.

Huffing, he heaved himself up from his tidy desk and straightened his suit. He'd just go out there, be calm and civil, and maybe even apologise for laughing in that ridiculous manner -

"Sir Kirkland! Your Butler's gone missing!" Alice's shrill voice rang out from the hallway. Arthur stiffened. Oh god - had his laughter really been so offensive that the boy had run away? As this train of thought was building up in his mind with horrifying clarity Alice burst into his office, her normal calm and stern exterior gone. She blinked at him nervously, and he was worried to see her green eyes shine with unshed tears.

"A-Arthur…I think I scared your Butler off! I yelled at him - and he was really upset! I… I'm sorry, you can fire me, I don't -" he interrupted her babble with a surprisingly calm wave of his hand. He was shaking on the inside, however, with a mixture of slowly bubbling anger and a pinch of peppered panic.

"Well, I do believe it's my fault if he has indeed left us," he murmured shamefully, but then looked up briskly at her stifled sob. "But... let's not panic until we've searched the house fully. If he has run… Ah, if he has run away, then we shan't let it bother us. We've had people leave before!"

Alice chewed her cheek worriedly, but nodded and stepped out into the hallway brusquely. She called Amelia quickly, and the Gentleman watched as the two maids began to search the house, calling out apologies and his name. Arthur sighed, rubbing his forehead wearily when the girls returned empty handed. It wasn't new. His entire servant fleet had left him just a few weeks ago - so why did this feel worse? Hollowly, he commanded the maids to retire for the night, planning to stay up himself just in case the American returned in the night.

Not that Arthur cared if he didn't return. No, he couldn't care less if the American had run off into the night, abandoning him and leaving him devoid of any new male company once again…

It was going to be a long night.

* * *

"Right, let's make this night as short as possible. I wanna get pissed, and I wanna do it quick," Alfred snapped, slamming his fist down on the table and glaring at his trio of friends determinedly.

Francis raised an eyebrow curiously. "Have you already been fired, _mon ami_?" he enquired smoothly, looking down his fine nose at the dishevelled man before him.

Alfred sighed, and shook his head. "Not yet - but I'm not gonna leave either. I just sort of… messed up any relationship me and my 'master' are ever gonna have," he groaned pitifully, grabbing the first tankard as the bartender placed it lazily down onto the table.

Antonio grinned. "Ah, so you wanted a relationship with him? A friends-with-benefits, or something more, amigo?" he joked, trying to wind the American up about his presumed sexuality - something Alfred had always been a bit touchy about, never ruthlessly denying being gay but never admitting to it either. Therefore, the Spaniard faltered slightly when Alfred just shook his head vehemently, waving his hand for another drink as he processed the Spanish man's comment.

"I'm not gay. Why would you think I'd be one of them?" the former rich boy scoffed. Francis sneered at him.

"Two of _them_ happen to be sitting right next to you, _débile_," he said dryly, gesturing to himself and Antonio, who helpfully held up a small photo of a scowling Italian as proof.

"Yeah, I'm gay! And so's my darling Lovi," Antonio crooned, stroking the picture lovingly as Gilbert made gagging and throwing up noises behind his back. The Prussian had been engrossed in drinking up until this point, and was only now joining the rather heated conversation.

"Oh great," he groaned in annoyance, "So now, instead of just two pillow-biters, I get three? Guess I'm left to hold out the straight-base," he cackled, throwing an arm around the dejected American.

"I told you, I'm not gay!" he cried dramatically, throwing up his arms and taking another good wig of beer. He hiccoughed rather loudly afterwards, and the trio noted with interest the rosy cheeks and glazed eyes that accompanied the lad. "Although… that Artie dude is kinda pretty, in a totally platonic way" he mumbled to himself.

Francis handed him another drink with a sympathetic sigh. "_Oui_, I can certainly see your point there," he murmured wistfully. "_Malheureusement_, he is oh-so prickly as well… it is not a good match, I am afraid."

Alfred frowned as he turned to the Frenchman. "…Have you hit on him before?" he growled suspiciously, and Francis shrugged with an airy grin.

Gilbert stifled a snigger. "Ah, getting protective now, are we Butler?" he chortled, and Alfred half-heartedly hit his arm.

"Just hand me another drink. I've had enough of prissy Gentlemen for one night," he muttered with decidedly less bite than earlier.

As he passed over yet another beverage, Gilbert just grinned. And thought.

* * *

"ARTHUR. That name…it's…it's cute. Really cuuute. Artie wartie. Artie fartie. Fart… hehe," Alfred blathered three hours later, giggling drunkenly as he downed yet another mug in a ridiculously short space of time.

Francis sighed as he shook his head. "Ah, love does indeed to strange things to people," he lamented, tracing his finger around the rim of his tankard almost mournfully.

Antonio snickered at the dramatic declaration from Alfred, also nodding in agreement to the Frenchman's thoughtful statement. "And drinks," the green-eyed man added mischievously as he nudged Gilbert, and frowned at Gilbert's rather suspicious silence. "Gil, what's wrong? You aren't sad as well are you?" he asked curiously, poking the albino.

Said albino looked up cheekily, a smirk oozing from his handsome features. "Nah, as if the awesome me could ever be sad about anything! I just laugh my problems off," he grinned proudly, shoving the American to his left jovially. "Unlike some people…"

Alfred, now well on the way to becoming intoxicated, just giggled haplessly. "Y-yeah! I do that too! HAHAHAHAHA! Shee?" he slurred, wiping a hand across his mouth as he frowned suddenly. "But… but there are other ways to fix problems, y'know? Like, I dunno... _romance. _See... I need - I need to get laid. Like, SHERIOUSHLY dudes," he proclaimed, ignoring Gilbert's knowing leer at the comment.

"So… who would you screw? I mean, what gender?" he asked naughtily, mentally high-fiving himself at Alfred's confused expression - normally he would instantly say a girl. Now, though, he just frowned in thought, pursing his lips as he pondered.

"I don't… I mean I do know what gender," he grinned. "Yeah… A DUDE! I WANNA DO IT WITH A DUDE!" he yelled happily, completely oblivious to the glares being sent to him by the bartender and shocked, repulsed looks from the other pub visitors.

Francis cringed, waving a finger over his lips. "And I am happy for you Alfred, but I highly doubt that fair young mademoiselle over there wishes to know that," he hissed, wincing at the haughty expressions of each pub member being sent their way. And he thought he'd had a chance with that girl across the bar… any hope of that was gone now. And she was oh-so _beau..._

Gilbert just rolled his eyes skeptically at the sudden leer that appeared on Francis' face. Yeah, he knew that look. Ignoring it with a short sigh, he huffed and continued to think.

A plot was forming in the albino's mind. Just from this evening, he could tell that Alfred fancied the pants off of his new master, and he also knew that the lad was earning money… to pay off a debt. Gilbert had a revelation as he drank that Alfred would probably do anything for a bit of extra cash - especially in the state he was currently in. The Prussian leered sneakily as he realised this could lead to him getting money from Alfred - and thus it was time for a bet. And oh, did Gilbert love a good bet.

"Oi, Alfie… you like money don't you?" he ventured innocently, glancing to the American to view his reaction. Sure enough, the boy's eyes lit up as he gave a confident grin.

"You betcha!" he crowed, pointing a finger towards himself as he spoke. "I'm a rich man, dude… Or at least I was. What even happened to that stuff?" he mumbled, and Gilbert just beamed.

"Well then dude, how about I tell you of an awesome plan of mine? It's… a bet of sorts. If you win, you get loads of money…" he persuaded, waving his hand conversationally as Alfred frowned.

"Well, what are the rules? I'm not stuuupid you knooow~" he crooned in a sing-song voice, and Francis rolled his eyes at the two gamblers. Honestly, they had no class…

"Well, here's the deal - You, Alfred Jones, have to seduce your stick-up-his-ass master, Arthur Kirkland, into a false relationship within two months. If you do it, I'll give you my wages for those two months. However, if you don't manage to, it works the other way: you give me your job money for two months," he said convincingly, placing his hand suggestively on the American's. Alfred winced, and pulled away.

"B-but dude…I don't wanna hurt Fart - uh, Artie. Won't it hurt him?" Alfred said, rubbing his bleary eyes drunkenly.

Gilbert sighed, shaking his head. "And to think you care more about this weirdo man than your awesome old friends…" he whimpered dramatically, wiping a hand across his eyes in mock misery. Alfred cringed in shame.

"Never mind that - what's the forfeit gonna be? You can't just get away with failing or refusing," Antonio intervened with an evil grin, causing Alfred to flinch even more.

"Ah, but that's not fair-"

"Ah, but of course it's fair - the forfeit is trés important, you know," Francis interrupted the American, mirth dancing in his blue eyes. "So what will it be, Gilbert?" The Prussian gave a harsh laugh.

"Let me think…" he smirked, and his eyes lit up a second later. "Tell you what, Alfie. If you don't do this dare, I'll tell the entire world about your biggest secret," he whispered evilly, his red eyes flashing with cruel intent as he watched for Alfred's reaction. The American didn't disappoint, his jaw turning slack as he glared at the German before him.

"You wouldn't," he breathed disbelievingly, sobering up somewhat at the prospect of danger. Gilbert snickered bitchily.

"Wanna bet?"

"Noooo!"

Gilbert huffed and looked around. Quickly, he hauled himself up so he stood on the barstool, teetering precariously and ignoring Alfred's look of pure horror.

"NO! Gil, if you dare -"

"HEY! EVERYONE! DID YOU KNOW ALFRED F JONES IS ACTUALLY A V-"

Alfred shoved him off the barstool. Gilbert slid off sideways, landing awkwardly in the lap of a nearby lady and making her scream bloody murder. He giggled haplessly as he struck up a smirk.

"Hey, sexy. Wanna come and check out my 5 meters of awesome?" he murmured to her huskily. At least, that was what he'd intended to do, but instead just leaned over her and promptly…

Belched. In her ear.

The lady screamed again, and Francis groaned, standing up hastily as the bartender pointed moodily to the door. Antonio quickly followed in pursuit, leaving the two troublemakers to fend for themselves.

"C'mon Gilbert - let's go and save the day!" Alfred crowed tipsily, grabbing the other man's hand after an awkward moment of silence, and ran for the door. Gilbert followed as he was dragged, sending one last hasty wink to the disgusted lady opposite him, and then stumbled out of the door alongside the American.

The night was quiet; it was a large and rather disconcerting contrast to the bustling pub, and Alfred shivered slightly at the cold atmosphere. The other two men had already left, their cars disappearing into the distance.

Alfred groaned. "Aw, I was gonna get them to gimme money for a lift home. Gilly?…" he pouted hopefully.

Gilbert just cackled and clapped a hand on the American's shoulder. "Aren't you forgetting something?…" he asked childishly, and Alfred glared at him.

"Please," he added hurriedly, realising he was shivering his balls off out in the Autumn chill. Gilbert smirked.

"Wrong answer. You're meant to say whether you're gonna do my awesome bet or not," he replied nonchalantly. "Of course, if you say no you might wanna check my blog tomorrow, 'cause I'll have posted you big secret."

"Fuck you," the other lad mumbled under his breath, but then resignedly shook his head. "Yeah, sure, whatever. I'll do it - that Brit will be easier to flirt with than a hooker," he agreed, holding out his hand to secure the deal. Gilbert's eyes flashed again, and spat into his palm as he joined it with Alfred's, cuing a grimace from the other man and making him draw away. Gilbert just snorted.

"Anyway, how would you know how easy a hooker is to flirt with? You haven't ever -"

"Oh, as if you could say otherwise," Alfred pouted, and then nodded to the German. "Right, I'm gonna… you know, call my cab now, and head back - back to my Artie," he added as an afterthought, his drunken behaviour returning sluggishly now that the drama had subsided. "See ya, dude."

"And you too, my dear accomplice," Gilbert chuckled to himself under his breath, head filled with money as he watched the young man disappear into the night.

_Hook, line and sinker_, he thought confidently, sure that his two-months-of-extra-cash fate was sealed. After all, it was near impossible that the stuck up Gentleman would ever fall for the walking disaster called Alfred. It just wasn't that likely.

* * *

Arthur paced up and down in front of the main door, eyeing it with disdain. He was there to see if it needed replacing, and to see if the wood was in perfectly fine condition, because he'd noticed some woodwork marks earlier and - oh, who was he kidding? He was there for his Butler. His idiotic, moronic Butler.

_Who you happen to find yourself in the predicament of being attracted to_, his mind reminded him persistently. Arthur sighed and batted the side of his head with a gloved fist, realising as he did so what a madman he must look like. He was standing in the hallway at 2:00 in the morning, waiting almost desperately for a man that was never going to come back to return whilst hitting himself in the side of the head. The Gentleman groaned out loud, turning around with the intentions of departing for his warm, cosy bed - for the fifteenth time that night. However, his feet, never failing to surprise him, turned him round yet again so he was yet again facing the front door. He slapped a hand to his forehead. The sensible part of him knew it was utterly ludicrous to wait out in the hallway till the early hours of the morning, but there was still that niggling fear that Alfred would indeed return, and he would be too busy sleeping to hear his knocks and so the boy would go away again, feeling unwanted and alone…

"Gah! I don't need him! Shut up shut up shut up!" he chanted out loud, stamping his foot irritatedly on the polished floor as he tried to persuade himself to go to bed. It was dark out, and far too early in the morning; there was no way that Jones would just magically come back even if -

There was a knock at the door. Arthur's heart leapt up into his throat, and he swallowed it back down hastily, mentally lecturing himself on his desperate response. As calmly as he could manage, he steered himself towards the door, opening it a fraction and peering into the darkness outside.

"YOU STAYED UP FOR ME!" A yell greeted him, and Arthur could only give a strangled yelp as he was suddenly swept into strong arms that squeezed him so tightly he could barely breathe. He choked on air, shoving at the arms around him frantically, but to no avail.

"C-can't…You…urgh…" he felt his head go light, and gasped in relief as he was finally released.

"Artie! You stayed up… for meee?" Alfred crooned, and Arthur's gaze levelled into a hard stare as he noticed the flushed cheeks, glazed eyes, and slack jawed expression on the American's handsome face. Not that _he_ thought it was handsome! It was just... a nice face, that was all. Arthur could appreciate nice faces.

_Nice one, Kirkland. Ugh._

"You're drunk," he said flatly, crossing his arms in annoyance. Well, this certainly wasn't the reunion he'd been anticipating.

Alfred whined pathetically.

"Naw, babe, it's just, you know, first night celebrat… celebrati… partying!" he yelled, waving his hands around dramatically as he ignored the Brit's stony glare.

"Don't you dare call me that disgusting form of a name, you inebriated bastard," he growled impatiently, his foot tapping of the wooden floor in irritation. Honestly, it was like caring for a two year old!

But at least he returned… his mind crooned persuasively. He shook his head hurriedly to rid of the positive thoughts. No, this was bad. Alfred was drunk, and he was stupid, and he was… wait, what was he doing?

Arthur shuddered violently as he noticed the American's face hovering inches from his own. Alfred grabbed his face to prevent him from moving, and slowly brought his own face in closer. Arthur spasmed, his heart fluttering frantically and his own brain betraying him by refusing him the power of movement.

Alfred came even closer, and Arthur breathed heavily as his lips neared -

"Who's a mishter gwumpy face den?" Alfred cooed in a horrific example of a baby voice.

Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin when he realised what he'd just been expecting to happen. Bloody hell! He must be insane…

Alfred grinned sneakily and suddenly swooped down, making Arthur jump as he wrapped his arms around the Britain's arms and middle and smashing his face against his chest. Arthur flushed bright red, trying desperately to shove the American away with his trapped arms.

What on earth had gotten into him! …And was he referring to himself or the Butler there? Gods, he needed to sleep.

…That is, if a heavy American wasn't currently holding him in an embrace.

"You prat! Get off me! Stop… stop molesting me this instant!" he cried, trying to kick the moron where it counts as a last resort.

"Aw, doesn't Artie want some smexy times with his Buuutler?" Alfred whined, squeezing the Englishman harder and rubbing his face against him as that stupid piece of hair that always stuck up nodded in agreement. The blood drained from Arthur's face, and his jaw dropped in horror as he realised that blood was heading into The Danger Zone Down South.

"Alfred. Alfred. Get off. Now," he choked out, refusing to let his stifled sexuality get in the way of the drunken behaviour from the American youth. This was really not good, and he needed to get away from him _now _before -

There was a snore from below.

Arthur stared.

_Oh god no. He hasn't… has he?_

He had. Of course he had. That imbecile, that stupid wanker had bloody well_ fallen asleep_ on him. Whilst hugging him. Provocatively.

"Oh for the love of God…" Arthur groaned feebly, trying to shove the heavy man off without much luck. He really was clinging on tightly, wasn't he? Sighing resignedly, Arthur quickly said goodbye to his dignity, watching it wave cheerily at him as it packed its bags and buggered off. "MAIDS! GET HERE NOW," he yelled with force, half praying that the cry would wake the brat hugging him up.

Of course it didn't, and seconds later the maids arrived with shocked expressions on their faces. Amelia, ever the childish one, instantly burst into giggles, leaving the pale-faced Alice to assess the situation.

"Can you… get up the stairs?" she whispered thoughtfully. "Because then you could… ahem, drop him off in his room… or something." She coughed, her cheeks flushing daintily as she averted her gaze.

"I suppose I could, but I'd probably end up rupturing my spleen lugging his fat arse around," he growled. "And you can stop looking so bloody well amused!" Arthur roared at the American girl, causing her to flinch and step away.

"Yes sir!" she saluted him sarcastically; he rolled his eyes and with Alice's determined assistance, took a careful step backwards. Alfred fell forward predictably, waking up slightly with a grunt and standing up.

"Woah… *hic!* Oh, hey there Artieee," he hiccoughed carelessly, patting Arthur's shoulder affectionately. "Whazza guy like you doin' in a place like this, huh?"

"You. Come with me, now," Arthur ground out, and Alfred obliged obediently, clinging onto his master's arm as he was guided through the hall and up the stairs. Arthur cursed, grumbled, and kicked Alfred's feet up every step until they eventually arrived at his room. Arthur stopped in front of the door, carelessly shoving the tipsy lad into his room and leaving quickly with just a short and flustered 'goodnight'.

As soon as the lights turned out in the hallway, Alfred grinned to himself. He was pleased with his night's achievements - nothing like a little liquid courage to make him be shameless and flirtatious - and mentally high fived himself. Oh, this bet was gonna be a piece of _cake._


	8. Of Punks and Planning

**A/N: And here's chapter 8. I'm sorry to keep you guys waiting, I really am. I had a mock GCSE yesterday, so I've been kind of stressing out hugely over that - but it's all over now for a while so hopefully I can get back to fairly timely updates. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter - a little bit of silliness in this one, but it was fun for me to write. **

**Disclaimer: Regrettably, the story is mine although the characters certainly aren't.**

* * *

_Alfred was swimming. Or rather, he was drowning, but it was a sort of nice drowning, if such a thing existed. He was sleepy, and felt happy as he sunk through the water. He couldn't breathe, but it didn't really matter because he had a handful of money. So much money… Suddenly, a sea monster with glasses grabbed his shoulders! Screaming, he turned around to fend off the scary monster pulling his shoulders. It spoke to him, in a strangely feminine voice. _

"_Alfred! You imbecile…" Alfred frowned in annoyance - who was this creature to tell him he was dumb? - but this time the sea monster raised its tentacle and slapped him cleanly across his face -_

* * *

"Alfred, you wanker, wake up already!" Alice growled, slapping the drooling American's cheek for a second time and marking the tanned skin red. Alfred groaned as his eyes opened blearily, visibly shuddering at the sight of the scary maid before him. Alice frowned at him pointedly, and he frowned.

"Oh… you're not a sea monster," he mumbled confusedly, sitting up slightly as he rubbed his stinging cheek.

"…Why on earth would I be a sea monster?" Alice grumbled. "I'm here to wake you up - just because you got piss-drunk last night does not give you the right to sleep in later than your master!"

Alfred sat up fully, waving a hand nonchalantly to the maid standing by his bedside.

"Yeah, sure, okay, I gotcha," he slurred easily, collapsing back onto the bed, and grinned as Alice stomped away angrily. He buried his face into the drooled-upon pillow, and smiled happily.

_Right then, back to dreaming…_

An icy torrent flooded his face and shot up his nose. With an extremely manly scream, Alfred leapt about five feet in the air and clutched his freezing, dripping face in panic.

What the hell!?

"Oh my gawd! You should see your face right now - a total picture, dude!" a familiar American accent bombarded his ears.

Alfred turned to glare at Amelia, water dripping comically from his face and hair, now lank with water and day-old grease.

"That wasn't nice! I was so gonna get up then," he grumbled, pouting childishly at the maid currently clutching her sides with laughter. The bucket, ever the innocent culprit, hung forlornly from her hand, completely devoid of any water - because it was now all over Alfred's face and bed. Huffing, he stood up properly in his clothes from last night, making sure to send a pissed expression at the British maid currently smiling in the doorway. She just waved somewhat cheerily at him, walked over and thrust a wad of black, boring cloth into his hands. He threw is with disinterest on a chair, and the maid sniffed haughtily.

"That is your suit for your job - you need to look nice after all. Now, the word 'nice' may sound new to you seeing as you have looked disgusting since I've met you, but I'm sure the old Butler's smart suit can change that!" she smiled brightly, and Alfred wanted desperately to eliminate the evil glint in her clear green eyes. He tried to stare her off, but she just stared right back at him defiantly, and Alfred was suddenly reminded of his stepmother - Alice had the same maternal but cruel look in her eyes as Mrs. Williams had always owned, and Alfred shuddered at the realisation.

Amelia broke the memory-spell by happily linking her arm with the British cook's, thus returning her to the state of a fussy maid.

"C'mon, let's leave him - unless you wanna watch him get naked," the American girl suggested naughtily, and flicked his chest. "I know _I _wouldn't mind staying, but unfortunately he seems to have his sights set on… uh, never mind," she finished falsely, giggling at Alfred's narrowed stare. What the?...

Alice just gave a sigh in irritation, glancing at her watch idly and grimacing. Alfred suddenly realised he had absolutely no clue what time it was, either. He probably ought to do something about that; he didn't want another onslaught of attacks for not being punctual enough! He hurriedly lifted his wrist, blinking water from his blue orbs and wiping the frame of his glasses with the other hand as he peered at the time. He expected it would be around 9:00; he had apparently woken up late and he figured 8:00 was an appropriate time to wake up for a Butler.

_5:04 am._

"What the fuck!" Alfred shrieked, and pointed to his watch indignantly as he stared in utter horror at the two maids in the doorway.

Alice raised a thin eyebrow. "Is there a problem, sir?" she inquired politely, though it was clear she was a little put off by his outburst.

"Damn right there is!" Alfred ranted. "It's fucking five in the morning! No mortal soul could ever possibly think that 5 o'clock is a sensible time to wake up! It's just… it's…"

"But Alfie! Mr. Kirkland always wakes up at this time - that's why you should've been up earlier, to wait for him!" Amelia replied innocently, blinking her long eyelashes at him as she gave the excuse.

Alfred positively glowered at the pair. "It's. Fucking. Early. Why in hell would that stuck up old geezer have to wake up now!?" he snapped, glaring in contempt at the neat suit laid out before him on the chair.

Alice bristled in defence of her relative, and prodded him in the chest angrily. Amelia, sensing the negative mood, crept silently out of the door with her bucket still in hand.

Alice huffed in irritation. "That 'stuck up old geezer' doesn't _choose_ to wake up at this time, you moron! I'll have you know that the poor man suffers from horrific nightm-!" she hastily slapped a hand over her mouth in panic, and Alfred frowned at her in confusion.

"Wait…What do you mean nightma-"

"It's none of your business! Right, well, I need to go and… make breakfast! Yes, breakfast," she intervened, hurriedly backing out of the simple door and disappearing from his view. Alfred only heard a worried, "Shit…" before her footsteps resonated away. The youth frowned again, rubbing his chin as he contemplated the maid's words. After a moment of hard thinking (a rare muse for the American), he made the decision that the British man must just be either batshit insane or schizophrenic - he seemed to have so many personalities and issues; it wasn't right for some old boring Gentleman!

_Trust my luck to get the weird boss,_ Alfred thought glumly, and rubbing his forehead to relieve his light hangover, he picked up the suit - So boring! - and prepared for the most likely challenging day ahead. However, as he stepped out into the hallway, he suddenly had the strangest feeling he'd forgotten something about last night - something important.

"Can't have been that important if I've forgotten it," he grumbled to himself, and let the thought drift from his mind as he went on the search for his master's room so as to wake the Brit up.

Soon, he came to the end of the hallway and had still not found any doors. Maybe Arthur lived in Narnia or something – were there any wardrobes around here?... Alfred scratched his head in annoyance, and glared at the blank walls as if trying to conjure up an entrance to Arthur's room with his sheer willpower. When no such door appeared, he turned back and was about to head back the other way when he noticed a small, inconspicuous door off to the left of one of the walls.

"Aha! No door shall beat me, Alfred the Great," he mumbled to himself, and confidently pushed it open. If he were asked to recall the tale, he probably would have denied ever seeing the 'private' sign glaring at him from the front of the door, but it was there and Alfred deliberately chose to ignore it. Instead, he greeted the Englishman with a hearty hello.

"G'morning sir! Get your ass outta bed 'cause I just woke up and -" he faltered, eyes widening in shock.

This was certainly not his master's bedroom. For one thing, it was as small as a broom cupboard, and after a quick, cautious glance around revealing no beds or Brits, his assumption was confirmed. No, this definitely didn't - _couldn't_ - belong to the stuff British man he knew.

It was… well, it was a punk _shrine._ Like, utter, full-on, hardcore punk. Alfred could only stare in a mixture of shock and awe at the extravagant guitars of every shape and colour lining the walls, obscured partially by shelves upon shelves of albums. He had to blink twice as he gaped at the ripped Union Jack hanging above the door threaded with chains adorning every gap, and fixed his amazed vision on the Sex Pistol posters and other bands plastering the small space of ceiling. No, this room wasn't Arthur's. He probably didn't even know it existed, as it was so unlike the fussy man he knew.

But wait. Was that… a photo on that shelf over there? Alfred trod tentatively further into the punked-up cupboard - making sure to take note of the huge-ass red and black rug with a union jack on (which looked almost_ embroidered,_ but of course that was a stupid notion) - and shuddered to a halt when his eyes were drawn to the focus of the somewhat blurry photo.

It was Arthur.

Arthur!?

It shouldn't have been, but it so delightfully was. In the small frame perched innocently on the dusty shelf, the Gentleman's younger face beamed at him with a confident, sly grin. He was obviously at some sort of concert, as he was surrounded by his punk peers and had obviously just glanced at the camera in mirth. His scruffy blond hair with the tips dyed green fell attractively around his pierced face, and one of his thick eyebrows was raised naughtily as if asking for something from the American; Alfred realised as he swallowed noisily how much he wished it wasn't just a photo.

Oh, but there were more! Lying on the small, inconspicuous shelves lining every wall were a collection of scattered photos, disturbing the dusty planks; they had obviously looked at recently. Alfred found himself utterly entranced by the photos of this punk who resembled so closely the man he had met only yesterday - it must have been him, but it was just so different. He looked different in every photo: in one, his normally blond hair was gelled and coloured in an array of red and blue as he cheered energetically in a crowd of other punks (Oh dear god, he looked so cute smiling even as a hardcore punk - Alfred didn't know that was even _possible_); in another he was sticking his tongue out as he kicked the air with red Doc Martens while a bunch of adoring friends surrounded him.

He came to the last one, and grinned in wonder. It was by far the best. The picture depicted a full body image, capturing Arthur staring at the camera with a mixture of anger and secret glee at being caught as he twirled a sword skilfully in his hand and pulled a pirate captain's hat over his flushing face. So he'd also been a freakin'_ pirate_ punk? Jesus Christ.

Alfred came to the sudden realisation that he was practically drooling at this point and, blushing, turned to leave. He felt like he'd discovered something precious, finding the little punk room of hot Artie and his collection of hot punk stuff, and he felt privileged to have seen it - even if he wasn't meant to. However, as he spun around, a cry of absolute horror interrupted his movements, and he came face-to-face with the man himself.

Oh, no.

Alfred could only shudder sheepishly as his enraged master stormed aggressively towards the youth, still in his pajamas and yelling furiously up at his taller butler as he dragged him forcefully out of the tiny room. He screeched and squawked indignantly at Alfred the entire time, and as he was thrown roughly out of the cupboard the American realised he may have just gotten himself properly fired. The door slammed shut menacingly behind him, effectively trapping the upset Briton in the amazing space. Alfred stared in utter dismay at the closed door; jeez, he was only looking! He frowned forlornly at the 'private' sign he'd disregarded earlier now glaring at him from its space on the door.

_Great job, Alfred. Royally fucked things up there now, haven't you?_

Now feeling miserable, and quite sure his butler career was over, he stood up wearily and tried to head off to his bedroom. However, his way was blocked as Amelia burst forth in front of him from apparently nowhere.

"Hey! Where d'ya think you're going?" she pouted, stamping her foot on the carpet in annoyance. Alfred tried to brush her aside; he didn't have time for her bitchiness - he'd just gotten enough of that from his supposed master.

"Oh, I don't know. Home, maybe?" he snapped sarcastically, throwing his hands in the air in frustration.

Amelia frowned at his properly this time. "You know, sarcasm really doesn't suit a dude like you - and you've not been fired. I should know - I found that room on my first day," she confessed, rubbing the back of her neck in embarrassment. "It gave me a view of Mr. Kirkland that I never quite got over," she grinned at him, and Alfred felt slightly consoled at the fact that she was still here, very much not-fired.

"B-but… how should I apologise? Are you sure he'll forgive me?" he tried, blinking with wide eyes at the American girl in front of him.

She gave a laugh. "Of course he'll forgive you! You know, Artie's just a big softie once you get to know him," she winked, and then started to giggle. "Although, the one thing you'll never want to do though is go through his Unicorn collection; he nearly bit my head off when I suggested I dust the lot of 'em!" she joked, but her face fell almost instantly as she realised what she'd just said. She quickly tried to backtrack, attempting to explain away Alfred's look of utter puzzlement. "Ah, not that he has… Uh, forget I said anything, ok? Just, you know, wait for him to re-appear - and apologise!" she said hurriedly, stepping away and retreating down the hall faster than Alfred could comprehend. He was left completely bewildered, and decided to just ignore the slip-up she'd made while he ventured towards the door leading to the Englishman. With a sigh, he decided he may as well try and get some work done until the fussy man calmed down - bribery through good work was always a good way to get someone to forgive you, right?

And so Alfred the Butler went about his duties with no further ado.

* * *

Eventually, Arthur appeared from the secretive room. Alfred found him standing in the hallway, looking a little lost and pathetic and very sheepish. The American was all ready to give a hearty apology and beg for forgiveness, and stepped forward to do so.

"Ah, Artie, I'm so Goddamn sorry about finding -"

"Shut up. I, er, actually wanted to apologise myself. The way I acted back there was utterly unacceptable. It was atrocious behaviour and I reacted too strongly," Arthur stammered, his cheeks flushing furiously as he extended his hand as a sign of peace.

Alfred was flabbergasted. Wait, was the stuffy old man actually apologising to him, the insolent butler? Well, he'd take what he could get. Now highly bemused, Alfred extended his hand as well, grabbing the smaller man's hand and shaking it enthusiastically with an agreement of never to mention the incident again.

Arthur nodded worriedly, steeping back and coughing slightly so as to give himself some space. "R-right, then. I'll just… go and get ready, I suppose," he muttered, gesturing to his attire awkwardly, and Alfred noticed in amusement that the man was still dressed in his boring old-man pajamas and from this morning. The only difference was that he was now wearing some rather interesting slippers…

"Yeah, you go do that… sir," Alfred grinned, barely able to take the gentleman seriously - but then, who would when he was wearing such wonderfully cute green bunny slippers? Alfred smirked to himself as the Gentleman turned away to leave, a small part of his mind still wondering about the 'Unicorn' fiasco. Had that been a joke, or…? Still confused, he stored it with the unknown memory from earlier, and patiently awaited his next orders.

He stepped forward towards the retreating man with the intentions of asking him what to do next, but ended up just finding his eyes catching on the older man's retreating behind and slim form.

…A slim form that suddenly seemed very familiar._ Wait a second…_

Without warning, a memory flashed back.

_Himself, tipsy, his arms looping flirtatiously around the attractive man, squeezing his middle and drooling drunkenly on his shirt…_

Oh god.

"_Wrong answer. You're meant to say whether you're gonna do my awesome bet or not." _

The Bet!

Oh _God…_

Alfred realised he felt nauseous, and clapped a hand over his mouth as he choked. How could he have forgotten that!? It was… he was… he was in deep shit. Seriously deep shit, and it really didn't help that the reason for his now even shittier life was currently turning round at his stifled choke, now standing before him in confusion and raising a stupid (sexy) eyebrow.

"Alfred? Are you alright? You look a little… odd," the Englishman commented mildly.

Alfred blanched. "Me!? I'm not! I… er… need to go piss," he blurted out, pushing past the bewildered Brit and practically running for his messy room.

He needed to thinks things over - like why his life was so fucked up.

* * *

"Man, this sucks. So much," Alfred groaned. He was lying on his bed, arms spread across the mattress and staring distractedly at the greying ceiling above him. He'd been lying there for about half an hour now; Alice had come and knocked to get him up again but thankfully he'd remembered to lock the door.

That hadn't stopped Amelia trying to karate-kick it down though. Now he could hear her whining in the hallway while Alice fussed around her. Biting his lip in annoyance - why couldn't they just leave him alone to think! - he rolled over tiredly so that he was face-planting the pillow in front of the headboard. He needed a solution, fast. He'd already gone through his rather pointless options:

1. Address Arthur and explain his lustful and inappropriate behaviour in a serious, civilised manner, and - wait, no, this was him. There was no way he could pull that one off without doing something dumb like sneezing in his face or something and ruining the entire apology.

2. Back out of the bet - okay, so that wasn't really an option either. Alfred shuddered as Gilbert's taunting voice threatening to reveal his biggest secret slithered and coiled around his poor innocent mind like a snake with evil intent. Yes, that option was definitely a no-no.

So that left…

3. Go through with the bet.

Which was also impossible. After all, there was no way that old-fashioned, stick-up-his-ass _Arthur_ could be a) able to be seduced, and b) gay! Not that Alfred was either - but he'd rather lose a bit of his manly pride now than to lose all of it through Gilbert telling the world his dreaded secret.

So that was it then. He had no options. In other words, he was doomed. He may as well kiss his life goodbye and go die in a cave.

"Argh! No! Alfred the Hero is never doomed! He will live to fight another day!" Alfred yelled into the pillow, the soft material smothering his statement and making it sound even more childish. Still, Alfred knew what he had to do - choice 3 was still an option, despite how ridiculously impossible it seemed. He just had to make it through 2 months of seducing the Brit, and then he'd have money.

Easy. ...Right?

In hindsight, it looked a lot simpler. After all, they had nearly kissed yesterday - twice. Alfred cringed again, his memory deciding to return with new vigour and taunt him with the punk pictures from the broom cupboard. Ah, that was a point as well - Arthur had looked carefree and young in the photos; maybe Alfred could renew that side of him and at the same time make him fall in love with him!

And, you know, there was the handy benefit that Alfred wanted to snog Arthur every time he saw him. So pride on the line or not, this worked well in Alfred's favour.

Oh, yes, this could and_ would_ work. His life was no longer on the line. The American lad grinned a shit-eating grin as his mind played out series of events that would lead his stuck-up master right into his arms… but he needed to do some planning. There was no time to waste!

* * *

"Yo, Franny dude! Francy pants, you there?"

Francis grimaced peevishly at the loud, obnoxious American's voice screeching at him through his stylish phone. Yes, his language was certainly not inspired by the language of love. He sniffed, thrusting the phone away from his ear and replying stingily.

"Honestly, Alfred, must you address me in that_ stupide_ manner? And do not call my by those disgusting nicknames,_ s'il vous plaît_."

There was a silence over the line, and Francis smiled to himself. Finally, some of his French sense must have gotten through to the bratty -

"Whaaat!? But Franny, that's your name! And anyway dude, I need your _help_, pronto! It's about... you know... _romance_, so I figured I'd come to you."

Francis rubbed his now aching forehead. He could never help this brat, he was so uncouth and - _hold on_. Did Alfred just say... romance? Oh,_ mon dieu_!

"What could you possibly require help for, _mon ami? _Could it be that you and your Arthur want a threesome and want dear old _moi_ to join in?" he yelped excitedly, brightening up immediately at the prospect of sweet, sweet lovemaking.

He practically heard Alfred's eyes bug out.

"Ew! Francis! Why have you gotta be so dirty, dude!? Jeez, I just need some romantic-y help… although it is about Arthur," the American confessed, and Francis nodded knowingly as he seated himself again, stretching out majestically on the chaise-lounge as he listened to Alfred.

"Talk to me, _mon ami_. Let me hear your woes."

Alfred's sigh ran over the speakers on the phone.

"So… you know about this bet?"

Ah, so the boy hadn't forgotten. _Merveilleux__. _

"But of course. It was a very amusing affair for me, I assure you," he smirked.

"…Okay, so here's the thing. See, I sorta need to go through with it, otherwise I can happily kiss goodbye to my dignity - but, will you, um…" The lad paused.

"Will I what, _mon cher_? Spit it out, don't be shy."

"Will-you-help-me-write-a-list-of-seductive-stuff- for-the-bet!?" Alfred blurted, and Francis chuckled at the younger man's awkward phrasing.

"What, to seduce your precious Gentleman? Well, I suppose I might just be able to help," he crooned, and stroked his stubble thoughtfully. "But what would be in it for me?"

"Oh god, do I have to give you something? Can't you just help me, like, out of the goodness of your heart?" Alfred whined, and Francis actually laughed out loud this time.

"Alfred. I have no interest in your romantic endeavours, unless they include my lovely self," he smirked.

"But Francis!-"

"- _But_ I suppose I could make an exception just this once. After all, I come from the country of love - it is my duty to help those in need of romance!" he declared, and Alfred breathed a sigh of relief from across the line.

"Great, dude, I knew I could count on you!"

"_Oui_, count on me, of course," Francis chuckled. This would be… interesting. Alfred perked up considerably after that, and Francis listened as he blabbered on excitedly.

"Right, so there's this one idea of mine…"

* * *

By 7:00, Alfred had completed his list. He'd gotten fairly far with Francis, but when the romantic Frenchman had started suggesting ridiculous things like trips to Paris for the plans Alfred knew it was time to go. Therefore, he'd carried on the list by himself, creating techniques and plans to get his British man to fall right under his heroic spell. He'd crossed out many that were either too risque or too complicated, and was eventually left with just a few main ideas, a few of which were as follows:

Plan A: Turning off the hot water as Arthur takes a shower. Result: Arthur, dripping wet and storming out of the shower in just a towel ready to jump right into The Hero's embrace…

Plan B: The Hero sneaking into Arthur's room one spooky, stormy night because The Hero happens to be scared. Result: Hugging + bed + kissing + etc etc…

Plan C: Francis appearing before Arthur and asking him out. Result: Arthur turning down Francis because he was already with The Hero, and kissing him passionately to show it…

Okay, so maybe the last one was more self-indulgent than anything else. But still.

Okay, and maybe the outcome preferences were a bit far-fetched, seeing how uptight and prudish Arthur could be, but Alfred decided he'd take what he could get and deal with it - after all, his charming mannerisms alone were sure to whittle down the Brit's resolve a fair amount, so the plans would just speed things along.

Now that his ideas were down on paper, he felt much better about the whole thing. After all, all he needed to do now was follow each task through and hope for the best - it didn't sound that difficult!

Still, despite his overwhelming optimism, he felt a momentary stab of guilt using the British man like this. He frowned to himself as he twiddled the scrap of paper between his fingers. What if he was being unnecessarily cruel? The Englishman didn't have many benefits to this bet, after all (except for getting to snog the hotness that was Alfred, of course), and he hadn't been_ that_ mean to Alfred…

Oh, screw it. He'd been a downright jerk to him! And Alfred had experienced the shittiest few days of his life recently; he deserved to be the one getting the prizes for once!

Prizes including money, popularity, and his old life. And kissing Arthur. But he told himself that wasn't exactly a benefit, because even if they guy did look like he'd been dropped from the heavens, his personality was about as beautiful as a dead rat on a moth eaten carpet. Still, as long as he just followed through with his excellent and ingenious plans, everything would go smoothly - and the entire result would be one rich Alfred, one fooled Brit and one miserable Gilbert. _Yes_, Alfred thought,_ this is going to turn out very well for me indeed._

* * *

**A/N: Alfred, what are you doing? Ugh, silly young men and their inability to back down from a challenge... Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter, even if it was a little late. There's some more Francis in this one - I there's a lot of debate on how 'perverted' he is; in my story I decided to write him as a bit of a pervert but more infatuated with romance than seduction, as I certainly don't agree with the idea of him just been a drooling, dirty old man. Sorry, fans of that, but hopefully you'll appreciate the way I'm portraying him! It's the same with Arthur, actually - I know many people like him to be a *blushu blushu* little tsundere who wears his heart on his sleeve and cries a lot - but I prefer to write him as a crotchety old-fashioned man with a soft spot for bratty Americans. ...Still, punk/pirate Arthur? /fans self**

******Readers and reviewers, thank you! See you all soon~  
**


	9. Of Magic and Maintenance

**A/N: Story time, folks! Here's chapter 9 for y'all, and it's straight in with Alfred and his meticulous plans being brought to life. Hope you enjoy this chapter, remember that R&R is always hugely appreciated and inspires me to write :D  
**

**So as for this chapter... well, let me just warn you there's a change of tone. This story is, of course, mostly humour-based, but I've thrown some feels in here this chapter so be prepared for that!**

**P.S. I'm going to be in Derbyshire for a couple days on a hiking trip with my family (*muted sobbing*) so I won't be updating for a couple of days. Just a warning, sorry "u_u**

**Anyway, enjoy the chapter~**

* * *

Alfred decided to start simply on his plan, and chose to go with Plan A, otherwise known as The Shower Plan. To do this, however, he realised he was going to have to fiddle with the maintenance - something Alfred had never had much experience in. Anything physical hadn't really been his expertise during his education, other than the sporting activities he'd taken part in, and Alfred wasn't too keen on getting himself electrocuted. Despite this drawback, he was unwilling to give up so early and went on a thorough hunt for the boiler room in the sizable house - but he made sure to leave any suspicious-looking doors alone, as he had certainly learnt his lesson from last time - and Arthur going into a hissy fit surely wouldn't help his case. However, even after he'd searched the entire house 3 times over, he still hadn't found the damned room. He knew Arthur's house was quite big, but his parent's house was easily this size and he never had any trouble finding things there! Still, he wasn't about to give up, and realised he might be in need of some assistance. Seeing as there were only four members of the household, he wasn't left with many choices. Arthur was obviously out of the question, and he had a feeling Alice would be overly suspicious and he wasn't looking forward to a fierce interrogation. Which meant there was only one other option left - Amelia. Not so reliable, but 5x less likely to murder him in his sleep. He hoped.

Still, he had other duties to perform first. If the plan was going to go well, Arthur needed to take a shower…

"Soooo…Artie…how's it goin'?" Alfred tried, slipping inside Arthur's office and leaning against the Gentleman's desk as he waited for a response. This part of the plan was essential, and realised he needed to get the Englishman in the bathroom ASAP so he could get the water plan over and done with and save having to drag out the process.

"Amazing. Truly marvellous. Fabulous - at least it was until you got here," Arthur replied shortly, waving a hand dismissively and continuing with his work.

Alfred pouted at him. "That's not very nice, considering I'm your wonderful, caring, awesome Butler!"

"There's nothing wonderful about you, brat."

"Ack, you're so annoying!"

"Takes one to know one."

"What time do you shower?"

"The feeling's mutua… wait, what?" Arthur paused, staring in bewilderment at the American lad. Alfred just shrugged slightly with a flush, trying to look apathetic as he glanced away.

That probably could have been better worded. Now he'd managed to creep out his target, wonderful.

"Uh, you know, just… wondering…" he mumbled as nonchalantly as he could manage.

Arthur's impressive eyebrows twisted in confusion, a small smirk adoring his mouth as he stared bemusedly at his butler.

"It's a rather strange question, don't you think? But if you really must know, I tend to shower at 2:00 sharp, just after lunch," he replied shortly, ducking his head to gaze with apparent new interest at the words scrawled on the paper on his desk.

Alfred cheered internally as he straightened upright. "Yessir! Got it! Right! Back to work! Have fun on your workload, sir," he laughed, spinning round cheerfully and leaving a puzzled Brit behind him. He only allowed himself to grin fully as he exited the office, checking his watch and beaming goofily to himself.

Well, that had been surprisingly easy.

* * *

Alfred cracked his knuckles as he strode down the hallway. Now for the second part of his plan. Time: 1:55, just after lunch. Location: hallway. Target: a certain American maid. Goal? Simple: find location of the boiler room, hijack the shower and end up with a successfully seduced master.

…Easy, right?

"Ameliaaaa!" Alfred called down the hallway, watching raptly as she turned from her determined sweeping and bounded towards him.

"Hey butler boy! What do you want? Some of us have work to do, you know," she grinned, and Alfred returned her beam as he stepped towards her.

"Well, I was thinkin' about that broom you're holding there, and how it doesn't really suit you -"

"-Eh?-"

"-So I figured I'd do you a favour and take it off your hands!" Alfred said in a rush, whisking the broom out of the American maid's hands as hastily as he could manage.

She glared at him. "Aw, why'd you go and do a thing like that? Give it back, Alice will kill me if she sees me slacking!" she whined, trying to grab the broom in frustration. Alfred grinned and held it aloft his head - although she was tall for a girl, Alfred still towered above most ladies and she was no different.

"Ah ah ah! You only get this back if you do me a little favour, maid," he crooned, and she placed her hands on her waist in irritation.

"Spit it out, butler."

"Well, there's this room I need to find," he started cautiously, and she have an annoyed huff.

"Which room? Some are off limits to newbies... and _you_ would know," she muttered pointedly, and Alfred just shrugged.

"I dunno. Is the boiler room a no-go-zone, or?…"

"Uh, yeah. And I'm not telling you where it is. You'll go and break something and then I'll get fired!" Amelia snapped.

Alfred just chuckled. "Oh, so you _don't_ want your broom back…"

"Gah! I do! But if Alice finds out I'm taking you to off-limits rooms then I'll be slaughtered and fed to the fire!" she protested, jumping up to try and grab her cleaning utensil.

"Then we won't let her find out."

"We can't decide that, dummy! She has eyes _everywhere_."

"I can decide that if I want to. It's a free country," Alfred supplied, twirling the broom around in his hand.

Amelia winced as he narrowly missed a vase perched on a dusty shelf, and scowled as she pointed resignedly to the floor.

"The basement, dumbass. The boiler is in the basement - the stairs are near the kitchen," she grumbled, holding her hand out for the broom. Alfred's mouth quirked to the side cheerily.

"No, no. Before I give you it back, I gotta check if you're lying," he said seriously, and then ran for the kitchen. Amelia fumed for a second, before straightening her maid's dress, pulling down her neckline and stomping after him. Honestly; didn't he understand what Alice and Arthur were like yet!? The kid must have a death wish!

When she arrived, she noticed him standing at the open trapdoor warily.

"What's wrong? Oi, gimme my broom, and get down there before someone sees you," she snapped. Alfred shivered as he shook his head frantically, but held out her broom all the same. She snatched it back and made shooing gestures. Alfred turned paler as he glanced downward again.

"Nuh-uh. That shit's scary down there! It's all… dark," he squealed, "and there could be ghosts!"

Amelia deadpanned. "Well, yeah. Why'd you think I don't go down there? Basements are creepy as hell," she muttered. "But you wanted to know! So… go. Begone. Shoo."

Alfred looked at her sheepishly.

"I've got an idea! How about you come down here with-"

She shoved him down the stairs.

* * *

"Damnit…where's the hot water pipe? The online manual said it should feel hot - but they all are! Maybe it's this wonky one here… ah, I'm sure it must be," Alfred muttered to himself, his tongue sticking petulantly out of the side of his mouth as he worked and tried to ignore the haunting darkness drifting around him. Arthur should be in the shower by now; Alfred had figured he'd left enough time. Now, he was crouched next to the boiler, shrinking anxiously into himself every time he heard a scurry rattle around the dusky, quiet room. There were rats in here, he was sure of it, but as long as he saw no traces of the paranormal he was sure he'd be fine.

…

Shit, what was that noise!?

_Calm down, Alfred_, he thought frantically to himself, flexing his fingers to try and quell their quaking. Shivering now, he wrapped his hand around the roughly taped part of the hot pipe - he presumed that was a homemade solution to some damage, but he really wasn't sure as he was no plumber. Still, it didn't look very professional, and Alfred realised the weak link could prove to be useful. He sighed, chewing his cheek determinedly as he lifted the heavy set of garden shears off the cool floor beneath him. He'd found them along with many other sharp or fierce looking tools collecting dust on a shelf down in the storage room, only discovering them by fumbling about in the light lacking gloom and cutting his hand on something sharp earlier on. Now, however, they could be useful, as Alfred realised when he reached the pip that he'd sort of forgotten to plan how to actually _cause_ the shower problem. Ahem. Still, the tools he'd found would fix everything, he was sure.

The dusty torch lamp settled beside him flickered uneasily in the gloom, and Alfred whimpered despite himself. Jeez, he hated using this tiny torch - hadn't his master ever heard of having normal lights in basements? His fear coiled inside him threateningly as he studied the shears in his left hand. In his right was held a set of large pliers - or something. Whatever they were, they looked quite strong and the American hoped they would be enough for the task at hand.

A part of him felt bad for doing this; he didn't want to vandalise the Kirkland household, but he couldn't exactly see any other way to stop the hot water without… destroying the pipe. Alfred cringed. It sounded terrible put like that, like he was some sort of thug who took delight in smashing other people's house maintenance!

_Just remember - it's for the sake of the bet. Think of your pride_, he chanted in his mind continuously, lifting the tools in each and resting them against the pipe. With a grimace, he began brutally attacking the thin pipe with the weapons. It didn't seem to work at first - there were a whole lot of slicing sounds and cutting noises but the pipe remained intact despite the peeling tape. Alfred stopped trying to cut the thing in half, instead just lifting the shears and whacking the side of the pipe with them. _Clang, clang._ Nothing happened, and Alfred began to panic. He was being really loud - what if someone heard? What if Alice found him down here? She'd castrate him! Sweating nervously, he started hacking at the pipe faster.

Bash clang whack clang CRACK -

The pipe burst. Alfred could only dodge out the way as a spray of boiling water cascaded down right where he had been previously crouching, and hissed as a few droplets landed on his cheeks. The pipe gushed, hot water pooling around him, and he started panicking in earnest. This wasn't meant to happen! The water was just meant to just... _magically stop_ after a while, but now it was just spluttering helplessly over the floor. Oh god, what was he going to do!?…

"BLOODY - AAH!" a muffled screech from afar interrupted his frantic thoughts, and Alfred realised his plan had worked… sort of. He stood shakily, twitching his feet to rid of excess water. He felt terrible for it, but he knew he needed to get to Arthur to complete the plan. Throwing a guilty look towards the hot-water mess currently gracing the dusty floor, Alfred threw the tools on a nearby shelf and hauled himself up the crooked stairs. Just as he ran into the hallway nearing the bathroom, he skidded to a halt as the door opened.

…And promptly felt his jaw drop.

It was just like Alfred had imagined it: Arthur stood before him, shivering and dripping and half-naked and looking so goddamn delectable that Alfred just wanted to kiss him - but there was one tiny flaw in the outcome. In the wonderful world of Alfred's imagination©, Arthur swooned dramatically and fell right into Alfred's arms with a declaration of love, sparks flying and fireworks exploding in the distance. However, in the real world, this was not the case. Instead of weeping girlishly, Arthur was… well… glaring. And oh _boy_, did he look pissed off.

Alfred shuddered, realising he'd been caught out. Of course Arthur knew it was him - he was a fool for thinking otherwise! He winced. He was going to get fired, and Arthur hated him. Great. His green stare was icy, one sodden eyebrow twitching every second as he sent poison-daggers towards the American. Alfred bit his lip in nervous anticipation.

"What are you waiting for, you bloody prat!? Go and fix it!" Arthur spat.

…

Wait, what?

Where was the fiery accusation? The feelings of betrayal? Could it be that Arthur… didn't know it was him who broke the pipe?…

"F-fix what, Artie?" he asked tentatively, testing out his luck like he was treading on black ice. Arthur sighed irritably, blushing as he self-consciously pulled down the (short) towel hanging around his skinny waist. Alfred's eyes followed his Arthur's movements instinctively, but before the American could go and rip it off in a burst of determination the shorter man replied.

"Oh, of course. You're a moron and a new recruit, aren't you? I forgot," he growled. "The pipe in the boiler room needs fixing - it sometimes bursts when it gets cold, though of course _you_ wouldn't know that seeing as you're an insufferable idiot."

Alfred could barely believe his luck. So, the pipe imploding in on itself was a normal occasion here? He was saved! Okay, so maybe it meant he didn't get any romantic reaction from Arthur, but then again his ideas had been a bit far from what was likely to happen. He couldn't believe his luck.

And anyway, his plan wasn't done yet! He could still try to save his ideas. After all, Arthur was still standing there in a towel, and he couldn't really let that opportunity go to waste now, could he?

"So… wanna talk?"

Yeah, smooth and casual. Alfred could _so _pull this off.

"…Alfred, I'm standing here in my_ towel_. And you need to go and fix the pipe."

Or not.

"Aw, don't worry about your clothing choices! You know, you do look pretty neat in that tiny little tow-"

The bathroom door slammed shut. Alfred winced as he stared at the empty space in front of the door, positively _glowing_ with a lack of a certain Arthur Kirkland, and cursed himself. Arthur had now successfully barricaded himself in the bathroom, locking off any chance of further contact. Now all Alfred could do was go and fix the pipe.

_Well, fuck,_ he thought in annoyance, realising he probably could have salvaged his plan better by ripping it up, throwing it on the ground and stamping on it - at least then he wouldn't have made an embarrassment of himself and ruined his chance! God, he was such an idiot.

"Why does he have to be so goddamn appealing?" he groaned mentally, and berated himself for even thinking that. Ah, well, at least he hadn't said it out lo-

"…Excuse me sir?"

-ud. …Oh, shit. Alfred turned sheepishly towards the source of the noise, spotting Alice striding through the hallway with a mop and bucket in hand.

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, h-hi Alice. Just… you know, planning out my new story!" he lied pathetically, wincing internally at the look of disbelief pasted on Alice's face.

"Oh, really? I didn't know you were a novelist - I like writing in my spare time. Do tell me all about it, love," she said smoothly and smiled a shit-eating grin. She patiently crossed her arms in front of her chest while she waited.

Alfred faltered. "Ah, I'd _love _to, but I can't right now, ma'am. I need to go and… you know, fix a pipe! Important stuff, and… yeah," he excused himself lamely, waving a hand in apology and hastily making his way to the basement to do some DIY - Alfred-style. Which basically meant he was gonna tape shit together and hope it stayed. But nobody needed to know that, right?

Alice watched him retreat, still smirking. Amelia appeared behind her with a gasp.

"Did he just say what I thought he said?" she said excitedly, eyes wide and curious. Alice gave a firm nod.

"Mhmm. As strange as it may seem, I believe our Butler may just hold feelings of non-platonic affection towards Mr. Kirkland," she murmured, twirling one of her long pigtails in her hair thoughtfully.

Amelia beamed happily.

"Oh god - that's so cute! They're so unlikely, but I can see it working," she giggled. "We need to tell Elizaveta - she'll become rabid!"

Alice frowned disapprovingly.

"Ah- I don't think so. Whatever you do, don't tell anyone. I don't think Mr. Kirkland himself is aware of the boy's feelings yet - and if I'm honest, I don't think Alfred is either - so let's keep it that way, and let them work it out," she warned wisely, and Amelia nodded in avid agreement.

"Sure! Oh, a butler-and-master forbidden love - how _romantic_," she cooed. The two maids smiled knowingly at each other, satisfied with their deduction and choosing to continue with their duties while the two men of the house remained oh-so-blissfully unaware of their budding romance.

…Or so they thought.

* * *

Arthur stood in the bathroom, shaking his head repetitively as his brain caught up with his whirling thoughts. Oh dear Lord, why did the boy have to be such a… such a git!? Although, come to think of it, he was also acting in a dimwitted manner, what with standing in towels and shamelessly eavesdropping on the lad babbling to himself on how he found Arthur attractive of all things - it was just plain stupid! And of course, it just had to make him hopeful, too! For the past ten minutes now, he'd been just standing there, dreaming ridiculous thoughts about how Alfred could actually like him like that, as childish as it seemed, and how he would carry Arthur off into the sunset like it was some stupid fairytail! Gah, it was all bollocks. The words were just useless ramblings of a confused man, that's all.

_Alfred's a teenager,_ he told himself angrily,_ They're always confused about their sexual orientation; it's nothing new_. _He'll find out he's straight soon enough when he finds a pretty, cute girl to go out with and they'll_ - He stopped his thought line hurriedly, shaking his head to dislodge the offending thoughts. He shouldn't be thinking about the man in that way! Come to think of it, the boy had probably already slept with a girl - he was irresistibly attractive, after all. Arthur was surprised he didn't have his own fan group what with his endearing looks, charming personality and - oh, and there he went again, thinking about that idiot American in a more than platonic way! God, would he ever get a break?

Bristling now, he concentrated on waiting patiently (impatiently) for his hot water to rejuvenate itself while he held a hand under the flow of freezing water. How long did it take to fix a bloody shower anyway? He huffed as he glared at the shower, sticking his hand in the icy flow and willing it to fix itself without the help of the blundering fool in the basement.

And then the water turned hot. Arthur jumped in shock, calming down only slightly when he heard a stifled yell of 'fixed it!' from below. He stepped back into the shower with a heavy sigh, trying to banish all thoughts of romance from his head. He rubbed his neck thoughtfully, sighing as his fingers tightened on their own accord. He needed to stop thinking about Alfred, and his feelings for him. He thought about his faeries, he thought about his magic - but inevitably, thinking of those things brought back other thoughts. Memories. His mind still wavered on its own accord, and his eyes grew icy. Indeed, he'd certainly paid the price for being himself…

_"There you are! Hey witch, we found you!" A childish voice cut accusingly through the air, interrupting the young English boy playing innocently alone. He turned round frustratedly at the sound, anticipating the mocking taunts to surely come. He figured he'd escaped them for a while, but…_

_"W-witches are girls, silly," he muttered, and a raucous laugh sounded from afar._

_"Exactly! That's why we called you it!" the voice called again as the owner neared._

_"And you are a witch! You cast that spell on mother and father, and now they're acting weird!" A second voice, more feminine but just as harsh, added to the comment. The young boy cringed, large eyebrows creasing in worry as he stared obtusely at his feet. If he ignored them, they'd go away. If he just ignored them…_

_"Eew, Arthur's cursed! Cursed, cursed, cursed!" Yet another voice joined the group, chanting the word immaturely. This time some tears gathered in the corner of the small child's eyes._

_"Well if he's a witch, why don't we drown him then, like people used to?" The last voice cut in coldly, sounding distinctly older and more mature than the others, as well as containing a hint of a Scottish accent. Arthur stiffened, glancing up nervously at the sound of his eldest brother._

_"G-go away! Leave me alone, you're just a bully!" …Was that really his voice? It sounded so pathetic and weak - just like him. A hand grabbed the back of his neatly pressed shirt, and he squirmed in anguish as the voice whispered menacingly in his ear._

_"I'll drown you if I fucking want to! After all, it's all your fault our family is broken. Justice should be served," the older boy hissed, tightening his grip and pulling on the collar of the shirt. Arthur choked helplessly, lashing out with his arms and sending pleading looks towards his other siblings. They looked abashed, turning away and refusing to look at their hapless youngest brother being bullied mercilessly. They did nothing to stop the torment. The youngest brother shuddered as his throat closed on him._

_"Let me go! I'll… I'll set my fairies on you! Then you'll be sorry!" he coughed desperately, clawing at the older boy's strong hand in earnest. One of his short nails caught in the elder's skin, and he hissed in pain at the contact. He released his grip, throwing the young boy onto the ground harshly as he cursed the child. He spat next to him, and the small boy flinched from his violent approach._

_"Don't fucking touch me, you little gay prick! Stay here, and stop cursing our family, with your fairies and black magic!" his brother snapped viciously, kicking the ground near the child's head and stalking away with a demanding beckon to his other siblings. The siblings followed suit, sending half-pitying glances back at their struggling brother but doing nothing to help._

_"Good! Go away! I don't want to be here anyway!" he croaked after them, and glared at them as he rubbed his neck. They were right though, despite how much he denied it. He was different and dark and -_

"Gah!" Arthur choked in shock, feet slipping slightly in the shower as he found himself again. What was he doing, thinking of that at a time like this? Honestly, all it seemed to take nowadays was a word, and he'd be whisked off to the past. He must be turning senile.

_At twenty-three - I'm sure that's a new record_, he thought wryly to himself, and let the feelings of despair wash over him just like the now warm water currently soaking his body.

Letting the memories wash away down the drain.

* * *

Alfred stood in turmoil outside the bathroom door, waiting impatiently for Arthur's return from his shower. He'd somehow managed to fix the broken pipe, although it wasn't really a permanent fix. With a closer look, he'd discovered the separation was only a split in the pipe; he'd just pressed the pipes together and wrapped an entire spool of duct tape along with a metre of wire around the burst and hoped it stayed, as well as piling all the towels in the cupboard around the breakage. Not exactly a DIY genius idea, but he figured he could call a repairman and subtly get him to fix it without Arthur's knowledge. Anyway, his semi-fix had seemed to work for a while at least, as there were no more towel-dressed Arthurs wandering around in a rage. Unfortunately.

Alfred sighed, tapping his foot on the wooden floor as he stared at the white door. He wasn't exactly sure what had possessed him to wait for Arthur - he sort of wanted to apologise to him, but he knew that would just reinforce the idea that he was the one to break the pipe - which, of course, he had done, but Arthur didn't need to know that - and he didn't really know what to apologise for despite that.

However, unfortunately for both him and Arthur, his heart had once again thwarted his brain power, which wasn't hard seeing as his brain power was never strong even on the best of days. So here he was now, waiting for some unknown reason outside of the bathroom. He knew Arthur wouldn't like it - but what could a stubborn butler do?

The door suddenly opened out-wards, nearly hitting Alfred in the face from his position stood before the entrance to the bathroom. Luckily, his feet decided to agree with his brain and he leapt out of the way just as the door breezed over the space where he had been. Arthur looked rather dishevelled as he stepped out into the hallway; his fair hair had been darkened by the water and now swung limply around his features as he towel dried it, and his eyes were squinted and red as if he had been crying - although Alfred figured it was just the effect of water in the eyes. Arthur frowned moodily at the floor, looking uncharacteristically gaunt and pale in his large grey suit, and turned to head to his office. He jumped as he saw Alfred, though, and his expression returned from melancholy to annoyed.

"What are you doing, waiting out here? You fixed the pipe, didn't you?" he enquired absently, slipping the now damp towel around his slender shoulders. Alfred shrugged awkwardly.

"Ah, you know, I sort of… came back?" he grinned, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. "And then the bathroom door nearly hit me," he added as an afterthought. When silence followed, he faltered, and chuckled. "Ah… you really need to get that fixed - a door should open the other way, you know? Use your magic gentlemanly powers, and poof! Fixed!" he joked, attempting to lighten the icy atmosphere.

Arthur scowled at him. "You're my butler. Fixing things is supposed to be your job. Not… not stupid things like magic! Now, if you wouldn't mind not blocking the doorway…" he trailed off, and Alfred caught a glimpse of hurt shining in his eyes. "Oh, and please don't mess with the pipes again. You could break something more serious than hot water maintenance next time, and I will not be so forgiving," he snapped. He swept off quickly, leaving a shocked and guilty Alfred behind.

_He knew! All this time he knew I broke it! Oh god…_ he cried mentally, feeling horrified at being caught out. Why, why had he thought this would be a good idea!? In his mental outcome, he'd pictured a hug, an embrace, a kiss - but all he was left with was an empty hallway and an even emptier heart.

He came to the simple conclusion that Francis' plans sucked balls.


	10. Of Tea Parties and Revelations

**A/N: I am a horrible human being. Say it with me now, _'Eyebrow-extravaganza is a terrible writer'. _I'm so sorry I haven't updated in nearly a week! I've been in Derbyshire for a while, and when I got back I had tonnes of exams... and revising for them took up all my free time :(  
It gets worse - on Saturday, I'm going on a school trip to Iceland until the 30th... oops. Of course, I won't have access to internet half way up a volcano, so you're gonna have to wait a while on this story to update then! ****Please don't give up on NTLL though - as soon as the new half term starts, I should be back to fairly normal updating.**

**Anyway, this chapter was fun for me to write, and we get to see the introduction of a new character... Honda, anyone? **

**Enjoy chapter 10, and thank you to all who review, read, fave and follow!**

* * *

So Plan the First had failed mightily. As true as that was, Alfred was assured that Plan two would be a huge success. After all, this one was one of his own, and he was extremely pleased with it if he could say so himself. All he needed to do was wait for a dark and stormy night, and then he could sneak in Arthur's bed and ask for a cuddle of reassurance. It was so simple that it would work - it had to. Almost a week had passed since The Bet had been made, and with only one month and three weeks left every second counted! So now, for probably the first time in his life, Alfred was... checking the weather reports.

_"And now for the weather with Charles Burton. Charles, what's the situation at the moment?"_

_"Well, Christina, we can see here the last remains of hurricane Amelia here is the south of…And over here we have… And reports say that…"_

Alfred had never been so bored. What's worse was that there were no storms in sight - the last hurricane to strike the area had been less that a puff of air, and it was long gone from their town now anyway. Alfred rubbed his chin thoughtfully and hastily turned the radio off. God, he couldn't listen to much more of this crap - and it was clear no storms were gonna grace them anytime soon. There was only one thing for it - he'd have to improvise. Trouble was, he was the first to admit he was pretty crap at acting - a storm would have made it seem more realistic, but just scared 'because'? Nah, he couldn't pull that off. Which meant he had to actually _get_ scared - he really wasn't the best actor despite his self confidence - or at least think of a ploy that would assure Arthur he had a reason to be terrified. And there was only one thing Alfred knew of to give him proper, full blown fear…

It was time to watch a horror movie.

* * *

"Hello?" A soft, accented voice called through the phone.

Alfred grinned. "Oh, hey Kiku! I was just wonderin' if you could help me with a little something," he explained airily.

"Ah, Alfred-san. It is good to hear from you; you have not spoken to me for a while. What can I help you with?" the young Asian man replied; Alfred knew he was happy to hear from the rambunctious American despite the lack of emotion in his voice. Kiku had always been socially challenged, but Alfred knew him well enough by now to tell what the shy boy was feeling. Now was no different.

"Good to talk to you too, Kiku! Well… you know how you have this kickass collection of horror movies?" Alfred asked excitedly.

There was a pause from the other line.

"…I remember you crying over them."

"W-well, yeah, but they were _super_ badass dude! So, seeing as we're buddies-for-life, besties-forever, blah blah blah… can I borrow them?"

Another pause from Kiku, and then a small cough.

"You may borrow my _bad ass_ horror films if you wish," came the reply, quiet and soft but still audible.

Alfred grinned big. "Cool bro! You're like, the best. So how quickly can you get them to me!?" he yelped down the phone, practically hearing Kiku wince from the other line.

"Ah… I could possibly bring them to you later on this evening - you are staying with your new master, yes?"

"Aw, yeah, did one of the trio mention it to you? I've been pretty busy, no time for a social life," he chortled.

"Ludwig told me having heard from his brother. I can deliver them to you, as there is a chance I am heading out that way this evening," he mumbled. "And please, Alfred, do not speak so loudly. It is not good for your voice," the Japanese boy fretted, and Alfred laughed loudly.

"Dude, this is like, my quietest voice," he snorted, and a sigh was his only reply. "But anyway -I gotta run now, but thanks for everything man! See ya later and shit!"

"Alfred-san. Please do not swear. The words are unnecessary and -"

"Bye Kiku!" Alfred cut off quickly before the Asian boy could start lamenting to him about the importance refraining from swearing - he got enough lectures from Arthur, thank you very much! But the movie progress - that was good. Yeah, this plan was definitely gonna work better than Francis'! Feeling much more motivated, he suddenly felt the urge to clean the house for Arthur to express his optimism.

_Wait a second. Me, doing housework willingly? What's wrong with me? _he asked himself reproachfully, wondering why and when he started caring about the housework so much. Sure, he was _supposed_ to care 'cause he was a Butler and all but he was also Alfred, the King of Heroes and Procrastination! He never cleaned voluntarily!

"But I guess if it's for Artie," he mumbled to himself, and then flinched at his wording. "So... so he doesn't get mad at me, of course," he corrected himself hastily. Yeah, he was just gonna do it so Arthur didn't fire him or something.

Right? He'd better do something else first, to assure himself that he didn't care _that_ much. Maybe... he could take a nap? Yeah, that was just the right amount of slacking off. He sighed, leaning back. Now that the radio was off, the house was silent, and the couch was so goddamn comfy. And his eyes were beginning to slip shut… yeah, a short nap would be fine. Then he'd clean up, and Arthur would be proud of him, and everything would go smoothly.

* * *

...And all the while he remained completely oblivious to the pair of ears pressed up against the door nearest to him.

"See, I _told_ you he liked him!" Alice hissed to Amelia, jabbing the American girl in the side harshly.

Amelia winced. "Yeah, and I never disagreed with you!" she exclaimed loudly.

Alice panicked and frantically waved a hand in front of her mouth.

"SHHH! He could hear us, you twat!" she said hotly, and Amelia glared at her.

"Uh, _duh_. We shouldn't even be eavesdropping anyway," she grumbled. Alice raised her hand as if to slap her, but seemed to think better of it and settled for clamping her hand over the other girl's mouth.

"It was your bloody idea in the first place, you MORON!" she cried, momentarily forgetting about their vow of silence.

"Nuh-uh! I just said -"

"That we should listen to him talk on the phone!"

"Nah! I said -"

"Shut up!"

* * *

Alfred, meanwhile, was sitting on the couch as he slipped off into an afternoon doze, his eyes becoming droopy and his body warming in the sunlight shining through the window onto his lap.

_"Shut up!"_

A cry interrupted his slumber, and Alfred fully awoke with a start. Rubbing his eyes, he glanced in confusion towards the door.

_"But it totally wasn't my idea!"_ Another voice blasted through the door, and this time Alfred frowned. That sounded like Amelia and Alice; what were they doing outside his door?

_"And all _I_ did was tell you about how Alfred was in love with Arthur and then_ you_ had to go and mess it up!"_

Alfred choked on air. Since when were the maids aware that he loved Arthur!? Not that he did, of course, because he didn't! He just… had a little eensy-weensy little man-crush on him, that was all.

Honestly!

Chewing his cheek anxiously, he cautiously approached the door as quietly as he could manage. He grasped the handle silently, and was tempted to yell 'gotcha!' as he pulled open the door. He didn't, however, and the result of his silent and swift uncovering was two shocked and abashed maids falling through the space where a door had definitely been a second ago. Amelia cried out in worry, and Alice slapped a hand over her mouth in horror.

"Uh, we can… um, that is, we were…" she trailed off, brushing down her apron as she blushed, trying desperately to come up with some sort of excuse.

Alfred coughed. "Girls, chill. I eavesdrop all the time, 'kay?

"We weren't -"

"Hey, it's okay! I just wanted to correct ya on something. I'm not 'in love' with Artie!" he blurted, waving his hands dramatically for emphasis.

Both the maid's jaws nearly hit the floor.

"Y-you…heard all that!?" Amelia squeaked, pulling the other maid's hand away from her mouth as she stared in horror at the Butler.

Alfred shrugged. "Eh, it doesn't really matter. I mean, girls gossip all the time, right?" he grinned sheepishly.

Alice chewed her lip in discontent. "Still, it was rather... inappropriate... oh, I feel ashamed," she bemoaned.

Alfred shook his head. " Don't worry about that! Just - stop that little rumour about me and Artie, 'kay? 'Cause it's all lies! Utter lies!" he said, just a little bit to vehemently to be fully believable.

The maids nodded in unison, their hair bouncing frantically as they tried to edge away.

"We'll - just forget that then."

"Yup! Nothin' happening here!"

Alfred sighed as they disappeared rapidly around the hallway corner. He figured he'd have to tell them about 'Alfred x Arthur' sometime - after all, it would be kinda hard to keep their 'relationship' secret once they were finally in one - if it could be called that. Was it still a relationship if only one person was actually in love? Alfred winced at his wording. Wow, that really made him sound like a cheapskate, didn't it?

"I guess that's what I am - agreeing to this bet and all," he mumbled quietly, and hastily glanced around the room, paranoid that the maids would still be hanging onto his every word. It was one thing the girls gossiping over who he liked, and another to have them knowing about The Bet. Thankfully, the door was open, no prying maids in sight. Sighing, he closed his eyes again and allowed himself to drift off into troubled sleep.

* * *

"Oi! Git, wake up - there's a visitor! He must be yours," a British voice cut into Alfred's slumber, sounding agitated and extremely put out.

"Who'zzit?" the American mumbled, yawing widely and sitting up. Arthur stood in the doorway, his arms crossed and his expression sour.

"Well I don't bloody know, do I?" he ground out, a finger pointing accusingly out of the window. "He's Asian. He's waiting outside the door. I think he's a salesman; he's holding some magazines or something. I looked through the window - I think he saw me," the British man muttered, cheeks flushing as he shuffled his feet.

Alfred deadpanned. "Jeez, for a Gentleman you're pretty harsh. Let Kiku in! He's a friend!" he cried, gesturing wildly to the door outside and realising he was going to have to be the one to explain Arthur's rudeness.

The man rolled his eyes. "Well, of course I'll let the fellow in - now that I know who he is. Did you really expect me to welcome in a complete stranger?" he growled, and spun round to turn back to the hallway.

"Don't be too mean to him, babe," Alfred called in a sudden burst of cheeky optimism, practically seeing his master's furious blush in his mind's eye.

"_Excuse me!?_ Don't call me that!… Incompetent fool," the reply came, muttered from down the hallway. Alfred smiled to himself.

He sat up from the couch with a groan, stretching his aching arms and hauling himself up. He figured that the two would be bristling at each other; after all, Kiku was quiet and sweet unless provoked and Arthur was just… prickly. Sighing, Alfred realised he'd have to go and sort it out. He headed down the hallway to the grand front door, fully expecting to have to reassure Kiku and scold his master.

"Hey guys, break it up. I really don't wanna have to -"

"Oh, hello Alfred-san. Arthur-san and I were just talking - I'm stopping by for a cup of tea, if you do not mind," Kiku smiled, his large brown eyes cheerful and amiable.

Arthur stood beside him, a smile also plastered on his face and his green eyes glowing.

"Yes, it seems we share a common interest in our drink tastes - your friend is a very good-natured person, Alfred. Very different from you," he said airily, and the two tea-lovers walked calmly to the kitchen, leaving a slack-jawed Alfred in their wake.

_…What the hell?_

"Why don't you come and join us Alfred-san? I'll give you your movies then," Kiku added, and the American boy followed as his mind reeled. So… the fact that they were both sensible and boring made them have a connection? Alfred realised he felt slightly hurt as he took this new information in. He knew he got on well with Kiku; they shared a common love for different cultures and popular shows and movies, but with Arthur - he realised he couldn't actually think of anything they had in common. If they hadn't met through their work, they probably would have been the sort of people who avoided each other in the street.

Alfred frowned as his stomach coiled in an unknown emotion, and wondered why he felt so threatened by this. After all, he was only pretending to like Arthur for the bet, and this silly little crush he had on him was nothing more than a fleeting emotion!

He winced as he came to the conclusion that he seemed to be saying that a lot recently.

_I'm in denial… just great,_ he thought with a groan. Didn't that only happen in teen flick movies?

"Alfred! …Alfred? Are you coming, boy?" Arthur's impatient voice interrupted his thoughts with a snap.

_You didn't speak to Kiku like that,_ Alfred's mind retorted childishly, although he knew he was just being jealous and over dramatic. It wasn't good for the bet or for his job to be cross at Arthur. Despite this, he glared at the Gentleman's retreating form.

"Nah, it's _fine._ You guys have your little tea party - just tell Kiku to leave the movies outside my door," he said angrily, and spun around as he headed back to his room.

Arthur turned around in bewilderment, his mind spinning in confusion. Why did Alfred seem so annoyed? Shrugging, he presumed it was just his teenage hormones coming into play, and excused his butler's poor behaviour in favour of turning to the kitchen where Kiku - and more importantly a cup of tea - was waiting for him.

* * *

"A-alfred-san? I have the horror films here - will you take them or should I just… leave them here?" A doubtful voice called softly through his door. Alfred looked up from his iPhone, momentarily pausing his game of Plants VS Zombies, and opened the door cautiously in case there was a fire-breathing Arthur behind him. Kiku blinked up at him innocently, and Alfred felt a stab of guilt strike him. Yeah, he'd been overreacting - there was no way Kiku would intentionally 'steal' Arthur from him. He was just too sweet.

"Oh, no worries Kiku. As if I'd let you leave without saying goodbye! I'll take 'em now," he grinned, stretching out his hand.

The short boy nodded, handing the collection of movies over silently and bowing slightly.

"Have a good night, Alfred-san," he said with a smile, and turned to leave. Before going, however, he looked over his shoulder briefly. "Oh, and Alfred-san? There's a book in there for you as well - a comic book. You may find it…useful," he said evasively, and was gone before Alfred could question him further.

Raising an eyebrow and shrugging, the American retreated back into his room, flicking hastily through the collection of DVDs Kiku had handed him - before his eyes caught on a paperback volume. He looked at the words printed neatly in the top right corner:

_Kiss kiss!_

Well, okay then. Alfred shrugged, peering at the cover curiously. It was blank except for the title and a few pink swirls, and he turned the book over in puzzlement. Oh, there was the cover - this must be manga, the backwards Japanese books Kiku always read. Alfred had tried a couple, but preferred anime because it was more exciting and less confusing. The title was displayed more clearly here, the writing pink and cutesy. The picture depicted two men, glaring at each other in evident hate. The rather angry picture contradicted the fluffy, sweet book name quite drastically, and the butler pouted in confusion. Well, he may as well have a look. Still standing in the doorway, he flicked through the first few pages in interest.

The story started with the two men shown on the front cover arguing, yelling out their angst to each other as they fought verbally. This looked like some girlish comic - why did Kiku think he would like this chick flick drama? He read through the dialogue disinterestedly.

_'Daisuke, I hate you so much!'_

_'Well how do you think I feel, Daichi!? You're so bad at telling me how you feel - one moment you're angry with me the next you're sweet and kind!'_

_'That's your problem you idiot!'_

_'Shut up and let me kiss you.'_

Wait - what? Alfred's eyes skimmed over the page again, his eyes focusing on the last speech bubble. Why did 'Daisuke' suddenly want to mash mouths with 'Daichi'? A second ago they were arguing, and then… cautiously, as if the slightest movement would set off a bomb, Alfred turned the page - and nearly choked in shock. The next page was filled, stuffed to the brim with… snogging. Making out, lip-locking, smooching, whatever you call it, they were doing it. Two guys. With tongues, and sound effects, and -

"Aurghrugh!" the American yelped, his glasses slipping precariously on his nose as he stared in shock at the book. Where the hell had that come from!? They were really mad at each other, and then suddenly they were both gay and horny? Him and Arthur argued like that all the time, but you didn't see _them_ suddenly eating each other's faces in the middle of a fight!

...Not that it didn't sound appealing…

_Right. Put the book down, Alfred. You don't want to read this, it's making you think weird things,_ the sensible part of his mind pleaded with him. He nodded fervently in agreement. This was ridiculous, and completely irrational. As if that could happen!…

"I'll just… put this down here. On my bed," he whispered to the air, sitting down cautiously on his duvet with the kissing page still open on his lap. With a cautious glance towards the doorway, he glanced back at the comic.

And started to read.

* * *

By the time Alfred turned the last page, his hands were shaking. Well, that had been intense. Sweating profusely for reasons he'd rather not name, he threw the book vehemently to the corner of his room. What the fuck had he just read!? It was gross! It was disgusting! It was… it was appealing, dammit. His mouth felt like it was burning as well as his eyes, and he licked his lips anxiously. He shouldn't have enjoyed that. It was gay. Very gay.

So maybe Alfred was gay?

God, it seemed possible now. After all, it would explain why he liked looking at gay guys kissing, and felt butterflies in his stomach whenever Arthur smiled, and why he'd never felt attraction towards girls.

Yeah, he was gay.

"Wow…that's deep," he mumbled to himself, and decided he ought to say it, just to solidify the new information about himself. "I'm gay," he whispered to himself. There, that wasn't so hard. "I, Alfred Jones, am gay," he said, slightly louder but still mumbling. Right…

"I'M GAY!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, feeling a burst of confidence emerge with his voice.

_"Excuse me?"_ A voice said disbelievingly from the doorway. Alfred stiffened.

Shit. That was not how he planned on telling Arthur.

Well, he had to find out some time, right? He needed to explain it, because of The Bet and all, and not because Alfred needed some reassurance. Nope.

"Um, yep, you heard me. I guess I'm a homo!" Alfred grinned sheepishly, flashing his teeth at the wide-eyed Brit. At these words, however, his face morphed into its usual frown.

"Don't say 'homo' - homosexual is the right term," he said prissily, seemingly now unfazed by the new information. Alfred bit his lip as he stole a glance at the book in the corner.

"Well… uh, you seem to know a lot about it, huh?" he tried, and inwardly winced as he saw the look of panic cross Arthur's face. Oh no - what it the guy was homophobic? It didn't seem likely, but… However, his worries were thwarted as a blush settled itself across the man's face.

"And if I do? What does it matter to you? Y-you're the gay one here!" he protested childishly, green eyes narrowed in irritation.

Alfred smiled at him encouragingly. "Sure, so we can talk about our feelings here, right? 'Cause you see -"

"Shut up, butler! Get on with your work. Your... sexuality... makes no difference here!" Arthur cried, effectively blocking out Alfred's confession as he pointed to the doorway determinedly. Great. Knowing he wasn't going to get anything out of the fussy Brit now, he stood resignedly and headed into the hallway, moodily shutting his door behind him.

The seducing would have to wait until tonight.

* * *

**A/N: Ooh, I feel awful for leaving you for a week on a cliffhanger. Aren't I cruel ;) **

**Hope you enjoyed this chapter anyway, and please leave a review if you have the time!**

**~Eyebrow-extravaganza**


	11. Of Horror Movies and Misery

**A/N: Bklehhh. I'm sorry. I said this would be a late update, and it is. Weddings, school trips and exams have taken over my time this last week and a half! I'm not dead, I promise, just very busy~ But now I'm back, and I can partially sadly, partially happily announce that with chapter 11, we are in fact half way through this story! I know not too much USUK action has happened yet, but just wait - the pace picks up soon enough and hopefully you'll be satisfied by the end. Anyway, we've still got a long way to go, so here's chapter 11 for you all - and subsequently more of Alfred's 'amazing' plans. Ahem.**

**********************Disclaimer: Eyebrow Man and The Hero are not mine, as much as I'd like them to be.**

* * *

_'Amy! Amy, what do you think that noise is!?'_

_'I don't know, Millie - maybe it's a ghost!'_

_'No way! Ghosts don't exist, they don't. They don't!'_

"They don't," Alfred whimpered, grabbing a handful of popcorn with his shaking hands as the scene played out before him. He was on the third horror movie of the night, and was alone in the late night darkness; Arthur had retired early for the night without a word towards Alfred, and the maids had followed not long after. Thus leaving the American huddled alone in front of the rusty old living room television (which Arthur had been rather reluctant to allow access to) at 3:00 in the morning, his mind swirling with monsters and ghosts and supernatural monstrosities. The one he was currently watching was by far the worst one, with two innocent girls walking through the woods only to find they were being followed. It reminded him of his initial walk to Arthur's estate, and that fact wasn't exactly doing him any favours…

'I'm going to kill you, girls," a voice hissed threateningly from the television screen, and Alfred screamed along with the girls in the movie. He grasped the nearest cushion, clutching it to his chest as he stared in morbid fascination at the screen - only to wish he hadn't when he saw a ghost looming in the television screen, the two main characters gone from sight - leaving the ghost facing the camera and grinning evilly.

'I'm coming to get you,' it hissed, and Alfred's heart had a heart attack.

"Oh my fuck!" he yelped in panic, covering his face with the pillow and hurriedly fumbling for the remote. This movie was _way_ too scary - he had to stop before he got too scared to carry out the plan! After a second of frantic fumbling, his trembling hand found the remote, and he thrust his finger desperately down on the magical power button. The screen flickered off into comforting dull darkness, and Alfred breathed a sigh of relief as his eyes closed. There, that was better - wait. The television had been his only source of light…

He was in complete darkness. With a TV ghost on the loose.

"Artiieeee!" Alfred cried, pelting furiously up the rickety stairs and skidding to the Gentleman's closed bedroom door. He banged his fists on the door in panic, bet completely forgotten, yelling about destruction and death and doom and dismal films and begging Arthur to let him in.

The door opened, and Alfred practically fell into Arthur's room, such was his vehement fear. Arthur stood before him, looking terrifying and deadly despite his scruffy bed head and mint green matching pyjamas.

"And what could I possibly do for you at this hour?" Arthur's tone could have cut diamonds.

Alfred clutched his arm, babbling about anything and everything as he forced Arthur to shut the door. The Gentleman reluctantly complied, turning irritably to the American and shaking his arm to rid of the boy's solid grip.

Alfred whimpered pathetically. "Y-you need to help me! I was watching a movie, and the ghost, it saw me, it did and it's going to kill me and slaughter me and it's in your house and -"

"Calm down, boy! Honestly, you're a mess," Arthur muttered dryly, guiding the younger man assuringly to his bed. Alfred collapsed on it, and tugged on Arthur's arm.

"Comfort me?" he lisped childishly, his blue eyes wide and tearful.

Arthur sighed, hating his lack of resistance. "Very well, love - ah, Alfred - but you're an idiot for watching those dreadful films. Honestly, if you get so scared of them you shouldn't watch them!" he reprimanded, patting the other's arm reassuringly.

Alfred briefly thought about defending his honour and pride by denying his fear, but finally remembered the original cause for his visit and decided to roll with it. He could sacrifice his pride for this - and none of his terror was an act, embarrassingly enough.

"B-but they're so_ exciting_!" he simpered, batting his eyelashes at the older man. Arthur felt his insides twist at the innocent face blinking charmingly up at him. Alfred was such a strange butler - one minute he would be an utter, teenage prat, and the next he was like… _this!_ Arthur bit his cheek as he tried to figure the other man out. He didn't exactly know what Alfred wanted of him, but he couldn't exactly stand bye his bed all night comforting the idiot. So...

"Well, you seem jolly well fine now, so I suppose I'll just send you off-"

"Don't make me leave!" Alfred whined, pawing at Arthur's arm. "If you do, I'll get scared and faint and then, like, _die!_" he proclaimed dramatically, and Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Sure. And I'm going to turn into a unicorn."

"But-"

"No, you're going, now. Ta-ta for now! Cheerio! Farewe-"

"NO!" Alfred interrupted again, a pout beginning to develop on his features. "I'm staying here - and you are too!" With the finishing word, he gave a strong tug on the Brit's arm, sending him tumbling onto the bed with an indignant cry.

"Oi! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing!?" Arthur protested weakly, shuddering as the larger man snuggled against him.

"Ah, you're so warm, Artie. I feel better now," Alfred mumbled, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and ignoring his frantic screeches.

"What are you..!? You can't just…! You…!" Arthur spat, feeling his resistance beginning to crumble pitifully as he was hugged. Alfred just gave a small chuckle and squeezed him tighter.

Arthur's face coloured an interesting array of blue, red and pink. "G-git! I can't breathe, wanker!" he choked, clawing at the man desperately. He was reminded of behaving similarly on the night of Alfred's drunken behaviour - except this time Arthur knew some rather worrying things:

A. Alfred wasn't drunk - he _intended_ to do this.

B. Alfred was gay. Like him.

C. He was so soft and warm and endearing…

"GET OFF ME YOU BRAT!" Arthur screeched, writhing desperately and furiously as he struggled in the younger man's grip.

A snore was his only reply.

* * *

It was a beautiful morning. The birds were singing in melody and harmony as they dashed through the leafy trees, the sun was shining gaily and joyously through the window and the air smelt fresh and clean.

And Arthur? He was wide awake and weary, just like he had been for the entire night. He shuddered, trapped stiflingly beneath a heavy Alfred. He was lying stiffly on his back, hands gripping the covers as the larger man lay sprawled across him, his weight trapping the older man and his arms firmly wrapped around his waist. His face was smashed not-so-elegantly against Arthur's chest, and he was drooling a waterfall of saliva all over Arthur's freshly washed green pyjamas.

Bloody _wonderful._

Arthur sighed, his hands fumbling and floundering around the bed as he tried to find something useful to pry the American off him - a knife would be preferable. At least then he'd have the excuse that the prat was dead and so had no idea that he was lying spread-eagled across his master - it would certainly be easier to explain this sticky situation. Arthur groaned out loud, unable to deny that the bloke hugging him was warm and soft and sweet and admirable and attractive - but it didn't mean he appreciated being used as a comfort blanket when Alfred was scared of a horror movie! The only time Arthur ever wanted to be hugged like that was when he was in a relationship - with someone nice, who wasn't Alfred. Because he didn't want to be with Alfred. He just had a tiny, minuscule, microscopic crush on him; it didn't mean he was in love with the guy! And he certainly didn't want the lad to be draped across him like a curtain!

"You are an imbecile," he growled in frustration to the cause of his problems, wondering how to reject the lad when he finally woke up without hurting his feelings.

"Well, g'morning to you too honey," a slurred voice mumbled from his chest, followed by an exclamation, "Urgh! Is that drool?"

Arthur's brows nearly crossed in their vicious frown. "It's yours, moron! And you ruined my pyjamas!" he spat at the younger man, feeling the blush rise in his face as he spoke. "And you ruined my night! I didn't get a wink of sleep and it's all your fault because you watched those stupid horror movies and you kept on hugging me inappropriately and you didn't move and I hate you and it's all your fault!" he cried exhaustedly, and finally,_ finally_ felt the weight of Alfred lift from him.

"…It's too early to be hurling accusations." Alfred's reply came in the form of a soft mumble, and Arthur instantly felt guilt pricking at him.

"Ugh," he muttered, "I didn't mean all of that. It's just that…Well, I didn't sleep. At all. And..." he trailed off, looking up to see Alfred hunched at the end of the bed.

"Look, dude, I'm sorry I 'ruined your night'. I really am." Alfred spoke sincerely yet miserably, and Arthur found himself convinced despite the guilt. And Arthur wasn't good with dealing with guilt.

"J-just… don't watch horror movies again," he rushed out, hauling himself hastily out of his bed and shuffling out the door. "And... don't forget to make my bed, ungrateful butler!"

Alfred sighed, standing up dismally. "Yessir," he said to the empty room, and grabbed the sheets.

So it seemed that all his plans so far had been doomed to fail. For one thing, he hadn't meant to get so scared from the movies. Most of the fear was supposed to have been acting, so he had a clear head when talking to Arthur - but he'd forgotten how horrifying ghost movies could be. He'd been far too terrified to execute his plan accurately. And he had meant to wake up before Arthur this morning, greeting him with kisses and love… but instead he'd just kept the poor Englishman awake all night! And now Arthur was grumpy with him, which made him feel miserable and Arthur - well - angry. Even angrier.

It seemed that it wasn't just Francis' plans that failed. He'd messed it up, though, so maybe if he was more careful… And The Hero never gave up! He'd just have to put a little more thought in carrying out the next plan. Which should be relatively easy, seeing as it mainly involved Francis and the man was known for his meticulous attention to romance. Alfred grinned to himself as he messily made the bed. Yeah, it wasn't all on him this time - the third plan was sure to be more successful!

_That's what you said for this idea, and look how it turned out_, the small, bleak part of his mind reminded him pointedly. Alfred frowned, mentally telling his pessimism to Kindly Fuck Off. Alfred was not one to be pessimistic. No, this would work. He - and Francis - would make sure of it.

It was time to try Plan three: Flirtatious Frenchman and Amazing Alfred. The whole idea of this plan was to show how brave and wonderful and sexy Alfred was - so it couldn't be too hard, considering his good looks and amazing personality. Yes, this would go according to plan - now he just needed to ring up Francis and tell him to get his butt over to Arthur's place. There was no time to lose! He slipped his iPhone from his pocket, and quickly dialled the Frenchman's number.

"Hey, Franny!"

"_Francis_ - but never mind about that, hm? We have more important things to discuss," the Frenchman mumbled smoothly over the phone.

Alfred nodded hastily. "Exactly, like -"

"-Have you made love to Arthur yet?" The question came quickly and eagerly.

"Yeah - I mean no! No, God no," Alfred stammered. "Which is why I need your assistance for Plan Three."

He could almost see the other man's leer as he replied.

"Hmm... That would be the one involving moi, no?" Francis purred, and Alfred grimaced inwardly.

"Uh. Yep, that's right!"

"I see. Wonderful," he cooed.

"Look, so when can you visit? I need this done pronto, before I do anything else wrong," Alfred complained.

The Frenchman only chuckled. "Well, I will visit you the day after tomorrow - I am rather caught up with a fair mademoiselle at the current time, and I have some business to attend to."

"Two days!? That's too long, mate, can't you -"

"Shush. Be patient, _mon cher._ I will be with you as soon as I can be. Oh, and of course, do not let your sweetheart know I will be arriving!" And then he hung off, leaving the American pouting at the phone.

Alfred sighed, dropping the device carelessly on the bed, and ran a hand through his tangled hair. So, two days without a plan, huh? It'd be difficult to remain attractive to the Brit without the guide to help him through... Still, it didn't mean Alfred couldn't impress Arthur on his own accord. Indeed, here came a very important part to his careful planning for The Bet - and that was to be a damn good butler!

* * *

…Being a damn good Butler was more tricky than he'd first imagined. It wasn't that he didn't put effort in - oh no, he flung himself head-first into his chores and was personally quite pleased with the results. The problem was, the day passed without any positive recognition from his master. Only criticisms that made Alfred feel like the work he'd done was the worst mankind had ever seen.  
Alfred tried, he really did, but it was just so_ hard_ to maintain his standards when sharp eyes and fingers were prodding his every movement! He felt the pressure increase throughout the day, be it through harsh words or hawk-like gazes from the next room. It was either Alice re-doing the jobs he'd just done because that's just how bad he was at doing them himself, or it was Amelia fluttering around him and 'politely' telling him what exactly it was he'd done wrong - or worst of all, it was his supposed Master paying no heed to his duties well done and instead choosing to criticise his every intake of breath!

Alfred was fed up of Arthur nagging him about his butler duties, and wished the man would cut him some slack. He was new to this whole work thing, and he was sure that if Matthew could see him now he'd be proud! But obviously, the ability to feel pride for others was a talent that Arthur hadn't picked up throughout his life, because every single thing Alfred did was a criminal offence in the Englishman's narrowed eyes.

And what made it worse was that Alfred couldn't even intervene. No, he had to sit tight and smile while his work was ripped to verbal shreds around him, suffering in silence when all he wanted to do was yell at Arthur until his voice cracked. He knew it would do them both good, to just snap and bicker and _argue_, and it would cause less pain later on. They were built that way, slotted together through sanctimonious points of view and feisty determination; all this politeness and gentle obedience from the butler was making them both suffer. Alfred hated the lies; he wanted to just grab Arthur and yell at him and _kiss him _and tell him the truth - just let out a feverish _I did all this for a bet but it's funny because I'm actually sort of falling for you and we need to learn to get along -_

But Alfred refused to crack. Although it would do them both good, he knew he needed to pull this act - he couldn't risk turning Arthur's growing affections off him because of a stupid confession; he couldn't risk losing the bet, his pride and his money - and Alfred had a feeling Arthur wouldn't appreciate the knowledge that he'd been used for the sake of a bargain. Even Alfred hated acknowledging it.

And he didn't want to hurt Arthur unnecessarily. He knew that much for certain, although he was reluctant to admit it for the sake of the aforementioned pride. He figured he was past the denial stage by now - he definitely felt something for the older man, and wished there was a way he could show Arthur he cared without revealing his plans. After all, the bet had come first, so surely it was more important? But then, did money matter over somebody's feelings, even if said person was currently acting like a huge jerk?

All these questions buzzed through Alfred's mind as the time passed throughout the day, and he realised how heavily conflicted he was. He felt guilty for being immoral along with coercing Arthur into something he didn't realise; but on the contrary, there were so many reasons why continuing with the bet and deceiving Arthur was a good idea -

"Brat, that cupboard looks as dusty as ancient ruins! Do it again, and don't bother me until it's practically sparkling. I expect to see my reflection, not some grubby American's greasy fingerprints."

- so many reasons indeed.

But Alfred was a hero, and heroes didn't make fools out of people.

Neither did they back down from a bargain.

So onward with the day it was, and Alfred dusted the cupboard like it was the sole saviour of the human race and by the time he was done it practically sparkled.

Alfred couldn't wait for the day after tomorrow to come.

* * *

**A/N: Ugh, Arthur, I love you, but why you gotta be so cold to poor Alfred? He's trying his hardest to be a good butler!  
****Anyway, the next chapter should be up fairly shortly - and with it some drama! Ooh, the suspense.**

**Hope you liked this update, ****and remember that I appreciate every review I receive! (^▽^)**  



	12. Of Frenchmen and Foiled Plans

**A/N: Guess who's back, back, back - yeah, it's me, with a new chapter of NTLL for y'all! There's some drama in this one, as well as some things getting resolved - and Monsieur Bonnefoy makes a return! Cue dramatic music, ladies and gents. **

** Enjoy chapter 12!**

**Disclaimer:** **If I owned Hetalia, trust me, I would not be sitting in front of a shoddy monitor at 7:00 in the morning posting crappy fanfiction.**

* * *

Alfred was meant to be cleaning the living room.

He was meant to be, but he wasn't.

Instead, he was pressed up against the window overlooking the garden, his nose smashed into the glass and his breath forming a foggy cloud mark. He bit his lip nervously, his eyes stayed trained determinedly on Arthur tending to his pretty little botanical display. Under normal circumstances, Alfred would feel that there was something faintly stalkeresque about spying on his master from a secluded distance - but the circumstances were not normal, and from his current position glued to the window he found he was too enraptured by the situation taking place to worry about those trivial thoughts.

The 'situation' being a certain Frenchman. A certain charming, eloquently dressed Frenchman, who was currently leaning over an extremely irritated Arthur and was practically _breathing down his neck_.

When Francis had said he'd flirt with Arthur two days ago, Alfred didn't think he meant like _this_.

Francis had arrived about an hour ago out of the blue, giving no clue that he knew Alfred and focusing instead on dropping by to see his 'dear old friend'. Arthur had been a little put out at the visit, questioning the Frenchman's motives and simply raising an eyebrow when Francis declared he was 'in the area'. The two had commenced in much hugging and reconciling, purely on Francis' behalf as Arthur was never one for physical contact - especially from Francis. He couldn't help but voice his suspicion, but Francis had waved off his questions with his charm and punctually executed wit. Still, Alfred noticed that Arthur had continued to seem a little peeved at the copious amounts of affection Francis was laying onto him - and he wasn't the only one. Oh, sure, it was all part of the two trickster's plan; Alfred had requested Francis' help and the man was only obliging - but still, Alfred couldn't help but feel a niggling sense of doubt that Francis was being just a little bit _too_ affectionate for it to all be just an act. Alfred had also presumed that Francis would cut to the chase quite quickly, leaving an opening for Alfred to rush in and save the day; as it was, Francis seemed to be enjoying his flirting with Arthur, the bastard. He stretched their time out like a rubber band waiting to snap, and Alfred was worried that the man had forgotten about the bet altogether in his hasty rush to lather fervent appraise onto his old friend.

So the time passed, and now Francis was just _hanging around_, like he had been for 2 hours now, chatting and flirting and following Arthur everywhere he went - and all Alfred could do was sit and look pretty in a window while feelings of jealousy boiled furiously inside him at their every interaction.

He hadn't expected to feel jealous. Hadn't meant to.

But still, here he was, watching their every movement like a hawk and wishing profoundly that he could hear through glass. Were they discussing Alfred? What if Francis told Arthur about the bet, but twisted it and made it all Alfred's fault? What if they were both saying how much they hated him? What if -

Oh god, he needed to stop thinking. It would be okay, Francis was just a good actor, Arthur didn't hate Alfred and Francis certainly wouldn't tell him about the bet -

Francis stepped closer to Arthur, and Alfred wanted to break the glass between them. He watched as the older man leaned in smoothly and said something to Arthur with a crooked smile. Alfred's eyes followed their movements and facial expressions; Arthur was frowning at the older man with evident disdain (or at least, Alfred _hoped_ it was disdain or something equally negative) while Francis continued to speak. Arthur replied snappily, his face screwed up in disgust and those absurd eyebrows obscuring his squinted green eyes, and Alfred was thankful that at least he didn't seem to be falling for the Frenchman's charm. He'd been worried that Francis had been taking it too far, and it certainly wasn't like Francis wasn't trying; he had a rose plucked from _somewhere_ now being presented to Arthur and was stroking his shoulder gently. Alfred's fears of Francis forgetting about the bet returned to hit him in the face like a cement block, and he watched in unadulterated horror as Arthur's frown dropped and he accepted the rose cautiously.

Maybe it was time for Alfred to intervene.

He sat up from his position crouched against the windowsill, groaning as his back clicked uncomfortably. Exiting the living room hurriedly, he tried to calm his pacing as he headed outdoors, for fear of either of the maids discovering his frenetic thoughts - but at the realisation that he now couldn't see what Francis and Arthur were now getting up to, he couldn't help but race outdoors and pray that neither girl had seen him. He grabbed the handle of the grand front door urgently, tugging it open with force. He tripped up briefly on a rock as he turned the corner of the mansion, and stiffened his legs as he tried to slow into a walk. It wouldn't do to show them how anxious he was. It was okay, they'd just be talking, or maybe bickering. Arthur would probably have stamped the rose into the ground by now, and -

He saw Arthur and Francis, and his world also skidded to a stop along with his feet.

Francis was standing with an arm round Arthur's waist, dipping the Englishman into a slight swoon, and was _kissing him_. Like, mouth to mouth, passionately lip-locking, practically sucking Arthur's face off. Arthur seemed to shocked to do anything, his fists clenched stiffly at their sides and his eyebrows shooting past his hairline. Francis seemed unperturbed by the lack of a reaction, and continued blatantly snogging him while his rose lay abandoned on the lawn.

Alfred felt like he couldn't breathe, and took a step backwards in a feeble attempt to run away. The gravel crunched obscenely loudly at his foot movement, and Francis' eyes flickered upwards.

He was still persisting on mouth mashing with _his_ Artie, and Alfred breathed out harshly as Francis only blanched ever so slightly. The Frenchman pulled away from the gentleman swiftly, leaving Arthur to stumble upright with a muffled curse, and stalked quickly towards the shellshocked American. As he neared him, he nudged his shoulder lightly and even had the nerve to give a wink - a fucking wink - to Alfred as he passed.

"Now go and 'save' him, _mon ami,_" he whispered breathily in Alfred's ear, before whisking away and leaving behind stunned, angry Alfred and a rapidly glowering Arthur. Alfred's eyes met Arthur's briefly as the silence enveloped them, and the phrase 'calm before the storm' suddenly made all too much sense.

They both started talking at once.

"Did you see how he just!…"

"Why did you let him kiss you!"

"I did no such thing!"

"I can't believe Francis did that!"

"That piece of shit frog…" Arthur growled, rubbing a hand furiously across his mouth as if trying to rid of the taste.

Alfred was torn between yelling at Arthur for not resisting more strongly and hastily replacing the kiss with his own. He decided neither idea was a particularly wise ploy, and settled for stepping closer to Arthur and patting his shoulder. Hero Mode on.

He coughed slightly, and Arthur looked upwards to glare at him. Alfred gave a small, what-he-hoped-was-pleasant smile, although he felt more like gritting his teeth and punching the nearest Frenchman.

"Hey, look, Artie, I'm not gonna judge you! I don't mind if you… uh, like him, so don't feel you need to -"

"You fucking idiot! Of course I don't like him! I did_ not_ consent to that!" Arthur screeched, and Alfred winced. Okay, wrong approach, and now Arthur was mad at him as well. Great.

Hero Mode off, Calm-the-fuck-down-Arthur Mode on.

"Okay, okay, sorry! I didn't think you wanted that - Francis can be pushy when he wants something, right? I mean, he tried to kiss me once and-"

"_Excuse me!?_"

…

Oh, crap.

Arthur wasn't meant to know Alfred and Francis were friends, was he?

Great one, Alfred. _Genius._

The American back-pedalled desperately.

"Um, I mean, he probably_ would_ have done, had he known me, that is - but he doesn't know me at all, we've never even met, so it's okay! Ah…" Alfred trailed off uncertainly, twiddling his thumbs nervously at Arthur's betrayed expression.

"Alfred," he growled, and Alfred blanched.

"…I… um… can explain, I swear!…"

Arthur looked like he was going to strangle someone, and Alfred thought about running away.

"So, this was _your_ idea then!? I should have known you'd try to set this sort of thing up! Think I'm a grumpy old miser, do you? Think you can play me for a fool? I must say, I thought it was strange for that frog to just pop round for a chat, but if you asked him, everything makes _perfect_ sense!" Arthur ranted, pacing backwards and forwards on the grassy turf.

Alfred felt his courage snap; he really hadn't meant it to go this wrong! It was the worst of the plans yet, and this time he couldn't see a way out other than to burst into tears and beg for forgiveness. He floundered, wondering what to do and whether he would just have to give up the bet - he'd rather lose money and his secret than Arthur's trust.

He briefly pondered when he'd started caring about Arthur more than money.

"I-I'm really sorry Artie. I didn't think he'd do that! It was just meant to be to stop you from getting lonely!" he protested, all prepared to collapse and beg at Arthur's feet if it meant he would forgive him.

"Don't call me that," Arthur snapped despite himself, but then paused as he registered the comment. His frown softened slightly, and Alfred cheered internally at the minute change in emotion. "But… why would you think I was lonely?" He stopped again hesitantly, his eyes averting from Alfred's and his voice quieting. "I mean, I have _you_ as company now, and God knows you take up too much bloody attention as it is…"

Alfred's heart stopped, and practically ripped itself into confetti. Arthur looked abashed at what he'd just revealed, and quickly tried to correct himself.

"Ah… that is, you're a pain in the arse. And of course, I have the maids, and you are only my butler - and a pathetic one at that - so I can't really call you a friend," he excused himself, straightening his suit and shooting an I-dare-you-to-say-otherwise glare straight at his butler.

Alfred just beamed at him. "S'nice to know you care! Don't take it back," he grinned. He felt a swelling of happiness inside him at the thought of Arthur _forgiving him_ - and without any begging or anything! He was aware of his sudden cockiness towards the gentleman, but he couldn't help but thrive on the elation he felt.

Arthur frowned at him, and the grouchy gentleman was back. "You can stop being so full of yourself, you cocky bastard," he growled, "You'll need to make up for the damage you caused, you know! I don't just forgive my workers for their mistakes, git, you'll have to_ earn_ it."

Oh, jackpot.

Now, Alfred knew he could play it off easily, offering to clean the house twice or something equally as dire, but this was the perfect opportunity to make up for the loss of the bet - not to mention it would give him a break from the incessant workload, and bring him one step closer to Gilbert's downfall.

The only issue was of how to bring the subject up without Arthur taking it the wrong way, being the prickly old man he was.

So… playing it casual and cool. Yeah. No stuttering, no blurting, no -

"So? What's it going to be? I'm expecting an answer, and I haven't got all day!"

- And no wasting time, either.

"Okay, I got one! Tell ya what. To compensate for me… you know, ruining your life, how about you and me go out somewhere nice?" he suggested breezily, though the butterflies in his stomach felt like they were on steroids. Arthur looked up sharply, confusion and slight irritation dusting his features. Alfred would have felt disheartened, but he couldn't help but notice the hesitant blush slowly creeping up from Arthur's collar surreptitiously.

"A-are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting? It's… that is, it would be highly inappropriate! You're my Butler - I can't just take you out anywhere!" Arthur sputtered hotly, and Alfred chuckled slightly.

"Then how about _I_ take _you_ out, and we'll do it as just friends - I mean, it's not like I'm suggesting I take you out on a _date_ or anything," he joked, although that was exactly what he was suggesting.

But Arthur didn't need to know that.

"I never mentioned anything of the sort! I understand that sometimes fellows visit places together, but - that is - I mean, I'm not the sort of man to do that!" The gentleman continued to protest, and Alfred shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage.

"Well, try something new, then! Hey, you said I could make it up to you, and this is how I apologise! C'mon Artie," he whined, pulling the innocent-wide-eyed look, and cheered inwardly as he visibly watched Arthur's defences drop. Score!

"Excuse _you_, it's Arthur," he huffed, and pulled on the hem of his suit awkwardly. "B-but… I suppose that might be possible, given some minor alterations, and -" another growl, "- oh, fuck it, I'll go with you. Bloody kids these days and their bloody persistence," he grumbled, shuffling his feet embarrassedly and looking at the ground.

Alfred's stomach steroid butterflies combusted, and his face lit up.

"GREAT! I mean, uh, that's cool! I'll find us an awesome place to go, you bet!" he burst out.

Arthur gave a slightly pained smile. "As long as it's not McDonald's, I'm sure it will be fine," he said stiffly, and Alfred felt the sudden urge to hug him. But he refrained, because he figured he'd already put Arthur through enough today.

_I have a date with Arthur Kirkland! Suck on that, Gilbert,_ he taunted in his head, and tried half-heartedly to fool himself into thinking he was only excited for the sake of the bet.

He really needed to get a handle on this whole 'denial' thing.

* * *

Looking for places to go was harder than Alfred had first thought. Back in his old town, events had occurred regularly, but in the secluded area in which his master lived events were few and far-between. Upon hearing Alfred's plight the maids had offered their help, Amelia suggesting theme parks and Alice going for the more regular 'dinner date'. Alfred had wholeheartedly agreed on the idea of visiting a theme park, but had swiftly realised it wouldn't work due to the fact that a) there were no theme parks within miles of the mansion, and b) Arthur would absolutely hate it anyway. Alice had then insisted on her own idea, and Alfred had had to persist that no, this wasn't a date and no, a romantic dinner was certainly _not_ the kind of thing that gave of a 'best buddy' impression! The maids had then given up and left him to it, despite Alice's offhand comments concerning 'Bloody butlers not realising their affections' and so on. Alfred just chose to ignore them.

Now, he was regretting the dinner decision. Sure, it may have brought up questions Alfred didn't particularly want to answer, but it was better than having to tell Arthur "Sorry, I know I kinda promised we'd go somewhere but I'm such a useless dork that I couldn't find anywhere, so our going out event is ruined! Oops!".

"I'm such a useless butler," the American groaned into his palm, running a hand for the fifth time through his hair as he stared blankly at his ratty old laptop screen. This was his seventeenth google search so far, and he was fed up of looking. Maybe he could just ask Arthur's opinion?… Gah, why did everything have to be so difficult!? Autumn was such an awkward time; the weather was miserable and leafy and there were no events other than -

Wait a second.

Alfred's vision zoned in on the small, inconspicuous blue writing listed right at the bottom of the page. A Halloween fête, listed for the day after tomorrow - and it was being held in a field down the road!

Oh, fuck yes. Alfred _loved_ Halloween. He'd figured it was a bit too early for any events to be stationed, but according to the bright orange pumpkins bouncing around on the website home page Halloween couldn't come too early.

Grabbing a grizzly ballpoint pen he hastily scribbled down the event information, and rushed through to Arthur's study as quickly as he could.

"ArtieArtieArtie! I got us a place to go, let me in!" he hollered, ignoring the disapproving stare he received from Alice as she passed through the hallway.

A weary sigh greeted him from the other side, and Alfred took that as his cue to barge in.

"Honestly, you needn't be as hasty as all that. It's not like I'm going anywhere," Arthur muttered, glancing up from his book with a look of disdain.

Alfred just shrugged cheerily and hurried over to Arthur's desk. "I know, but it's taken me, like, _forever_ to find somewhere," he complained, and Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"Well of course it was going to take a while, using that blasted internet instead of a good old fashioned newspaper -"

"Stop being a grouchy old man! The place I found it brilliant - it's a fair! A Halloween fair! It'll be great," Alfred interrupted the beginning of the lecture, and tried not to laugh at the disgruntled expression on the shorter man's face.

"Hmph... It's a little early, isn't it? Hallows Eve isn't for another week," the Gentleman replied almost disinterestedly, flicking a page of his book calmly as Alfred practically bounced beside him.

"But Halloween is EPIC! It should be celebrated all year round! C'mon, you'll have fun!" he cheered, tugging on Arthur's arm. The cup of tea resting on the desk next to his hand wobbled dangerously in its saucer, and Arthur wrenched his arm away impatiently.

"Very well - but you book it. I'm presuming you're rather short for cash, so I suppose I could take some money out of your payment for the entrance fee - depending on how much it costs, of course," he said, and Alfred grinned.

"Ah, that's mighty fine of you, sir," he mocked, and Arthur straightened up at his playful tone.

"Stop it, Alfred. We may be - uh - going somewhere together in the near future, but for now you're still my Butler and you need to keep an element of order in the workplace," he protested weakly, and Alfred laughed loudly.

"Of course, sir! Poor, abused servant Alfred will get to work! Does the Grand Master wish his lowly, humble servant to lick his shoes?" the American continued to tease, delighting in the faint blush blossoming on the Gentleman's cheeks.

"What did I just tell you!? You need to - Oh, forget it. Just… go away and leave me in peace," he sighed as his eyes returned to his book page, and the younger man just grinned before exiting the room with a laugh.

"Hope ya enjoy your book, Artie - and for your information, the internet is _sooo_ much better than some crummy old newspaper!" his voice echoed from the hallway, and Arthur just rolled his eyes and finally allowed himself to smile.

* * *

**A/N: Let's get this USUK ball rolling! And Francis, you're a bastard, but I love you.  
**

**Reviews are always loved and cherished (Although, I never know whether it's protocol to reply to them or not - someone do tell me, as I don't want too seem to pushy or too aloof), so please leave a little one for me at least!**

**See you next chapter~**


	13. Of Dating and Drunks

**A/N: Hello, I'm back with another update! And it's nearly 6000 words all about the date - I mean, _friendly outing_ - scene here, so I hope you'll enjoy it. There are some cameo appearances here from other APH characters too, as well as your daily dose of drama, so I hope you like that as well!**

**Enjoy, and remember that "reviews are love", or something.**

* * *

"Remind me again why I agreed to you taking me here?" Arthur said dryly, raising a critical eyebrow at the excitable American next to him.

Alfred beamed at him, the strings on his woolly hat bouncing as he jumped up and down. "What do you mean!? This place is freakin' awesome! Look at all the fun things to do - there's apple bobbing, and junk food stands, and all the cute little carnival rides!" he breathed, his expression matching that of a hyperactive schoolboy. Arthur sighed.

"Oh, yes, what quaint, adorable little carnival rides - for children," he intoned dryly, and Alfred chuckled.

"Hey, don't dampen the mood - I'm still a kid at heart!" he said. "Although, it's a bummer that the 'shoot-a-pumpkin' game is for 10 and under…"

"That's exactly my point. I mean, you still look like a minor; you've got that snobbish brat look about you. But me? Look, I must be the oldest person here without children," Arthur protested weakly, gesturing to the crowds of children, parents and teenagers lining every stall.

Alfred just laughed obnoxiously. "Then dude, I'll pretend to be your kid or somethin'!" he joked, but stopped at Arthur's horrified look. "C'mon, just have a good night for once! I know I tease you about being old, but 23 isn't exactly ancient," Alfred smirked, and suddenly had an idea. "I mean, I know you're capable of loosening up - y'know, like in your punk days," he whispered into the other man's ear, and Arthur flinched visibly.

"I don't know what the hell you're blabbering about," he ground out, walking faster through the fair and stuffing his hands in his coat pockets. Eyes catching on another stall, Alfred grabbed his arm determinedly and dragged him backwards, ignoring the indignant splutter he received for is actions.

"Hey, come on! The burger stand is over here - and the candy floss stall! I'm practically drooling just smelling the sugar," he whined, and Arthur chewed his cheek.

"But I'll have to pay for it - and I don't want you wasting your money on junk food," he said primly, spitting the last phrase out like it was infectious.

Alfred stared at him. "Uh, dude, you really think I'd make you pay for that? You paid for the entrance ticket, so I can handle the grub! See, this is my treat, and I have money!"

"…From where exactly?"

Alfred paused.

"Uh. Well, you pay me, so…"

"That's my point, wanker!" Arthur groaned in exasperation, but reluctantly allowed himself to be led over to the junk food queues by his persistent partner. Alfred just carried on smiling as they waited in the stifling crowd waiting for hamburgers, and tugged on the hem of his beloved bomber jacket almost nervously.

Quickly, he sneaked a glance at Arthur from his position next to him. The British man was dressed for a snowstorm, Alfred noted in amusement - sure it was cold, but Arthur seemed to have dressed under the impression that he'd be buried under 6 feet of snow! He was fully kitted in a dark grey pea coat and lace-up brown boots, a green scarf around his neck and a matching hat flattening out his scruffy hair. He was frowning slightly, his cheeks red - from the heat of the crowd or a blush, Alfred wasn't sure. However, he was sure of something - his increasingly urgent need to hold the Gentleman's deceptively delicate-looking hand. It hung by Arthur's side, temptingly in reach and oh-so-grippable; Alfred couldn't help but want to cling to Arthur's side all night. Deep down he was aware that following up on his affections could lead to a world of hurt bet-wise, but at the current time he couldn't make himself care less about Gilbert's stupid gamble. Tonight wasn't about the bet - it wasn't planned; this was just him and Arthur on a night out together - a night in which Alfred really, really wanted to hold his 'friend's' hand…

Alfred leaned over slightly as he attempted to manoeuvre his hand into Arthur's in a way that looked accidental. Their fingers nearly brushed, and he retracted his hand awkwardly. A few days ago, he would have said his attempts were merely for the bet - now, he had no such excuse.

The American nervously stole another glance at the Brit, and nearly licked his lips at the sight of the Arthur irritatedly biting his lips. He wanted to be the one to bite his lips. He could just imagine dragging him hurriedly behind a stall with no explanation, pinning him up against one of the tacky wooden walls and smashing his mouth against his desperately, their lips moving together as they ignored everyone else around them -

"Are you drooling?" The Englishman's voice cut harshly into his steamy daydream, and Alfred winced as he realised his lip-licking had been more literal than he'd first thought.

"Ah, just thinking about the burgers we're gonna be eating gets me all… excited," he covered for himself, waving a hand nonchalantly at the stall ahead of the queue.

Arthur shook his head exasperatedly. "You do have the strangest fetishes," he smirked, snickering at Alfred's look of horror at how he'd interpreted it.

"God, not _that_ kind of excited! Jeez, you really are a dirty old man aren't you?" he said loudly, and looked away bashfully as his master sent him a glare that would make Death cringe.

"I'm not_ old_, you twat! And I am most certainly not dirty!" he snapped, stamping his foot on the grassy terrain for emphasis.

Alfred giggled, laughing at how easy it was to rile the man up. "Oh, I see. You just act like some sort of _erotic ambassador_, huh?" he retorted cheekily.

"I - Excuse me!?"

"Just kidding! You know you love me really!"

"I most certainly do not, you self-absorbed git!"

"You're breaking my heart here, Artie…"

"It's _Arthur_!"

…And so it went on.

* * *

Arthur sighed as he glanced for the umpteenth time around the slowly emptying field, eyeing the drinks bar longingly but obediently standing with Alfred as he played his fifth round of Apple Bobbing. A row of miserable children and their irritated parents were lined up in a queue behind them, and Arthur awkwardly shrugged at their piercing gazes. So perhaps the game was supposed to be for the kiddies - but Alfred was enjoying himself, wasn't he?

…Oh, forget it. They needed to leave before they got attacked by a mob of angry parents.

"Alfred, are you quite done?" he growled, peering in concern at the eager man buried neck deep into a bucket of water. A gurgle of water was his only reply, and Arthur sighed in annoyance. "This is your last go," he warned, feeling suspiciously like a concerned parent lecturing their rambunctious child. He continued to glance disinterestedly around the fair, determinedly ignoring the Apple Bobbing queue as he scoured the field. However, his eyes caught yet again on the alcohol section, and he berated himself strongly. No, he couldn't; he didn't want to get piss-drunk on his first outing (Date, it's a _date_, his mind chanted helpfully) with Alfred - he had reputations to uphold. Even if the drinks stand was practically singing his name, he had to refrain from succumbing. No good would come of it.

And anyway, Alfred was waiting for him right here, and he'd be done in a minute.

...Right?

He looked back to Alfred, and noted dryly that even the game host was glancing distastefully at the pair of them now. Really, what was so endearing about winning a soft toy anyway? Alfred had already won copious amounts of stuffed animals already, but apparently one could never have too many neon yellow bears.

Although, he had given that green bunny one to Arthur, handing it to him with a flush and a hurried, "uh-I-don't-like-rabbits-so-you-can-have-this-one! " as well. Arthur was trying to ignore that fact, however, because every time he thought of that stupid plush toy his face lit up about 10 different shades of red. It was currently settled at the bottom of his pocket, and he was currently trying to refrain from cuddling it and making himself a public embarrassment.

Although that task was getting increasingly easier as his adoration for Alfred was being quickly replaced by a growing irritation for taking so god damn long. He had a headache from the crying children behind him, and the grumblings of angry parents were slowly but surely increasing in their volume.

Gods, he was so bored.

And in desperate need of alcohol.

"Ah, Alfred? Are you going to be much longer? Gurgle once for yes, twice for no," he asked anxiously, sighing tiredly at the one sound reply. "I see. Well, would it be all right if I were to nip over to the drinks stand and grab a beer? It's just a drink, and I shan't be long," he almost pleaded, and another single gurgle followed.

Oh, sweet merciful flying mint bunnies.

"Thanks, old chap," he said in relief, and quickly turned towards the alcohol stand. He paced towards it in a manner that was certainly_ not_ desperate, shouting behind him a quick, "Join me when you're ready!" and promptly made his way towards the drinks.

He queued up with a sigh, noting how many rowdy young teenagers were standing in front of him. Just _wonderful._ The queue itself was getting pretty large; now that the families were starting to go home the mob-like groups of youths had evidently decided it was time to drink until they puked. Arthur mentally prepared himself for the long, tedious wait that would most likely be long enough for Alfred to catch up with him.

Maybe he could even persuade Alfred to get a drink too; he'd show that stuck up brat just how 'fun' he could be. Why, back in his teenage days, Arthur had been -

-"Oh, little angry man!"

Arthur jolted in shock at the accented tone that sounded from quite a way behind him. That voice sounded vaguely familiar - and not in the particularly good way.

"Hey, hey, don't be ignoring me! I recognise you; you're the English man who thinks he can hold his liquor!" The voice called from afar, and Arthur's eyes widened in horror as he finally registered the owner of the voice. Oh gosh, was that - _Ivan?…_

Arthur stared resolutely ahead.

"Ivan, don't be so hasty! Wait for me, aru!" another familiar voice screeched, and Arthur dropped his head into his hands with a groan. It _was _Ivan - and Co. This was the last place he'd imagined meeting those guys, and now he had to make an effort to be sociable and dig up past memories he'd rather keep hidden. Just_ wonderful_.

He turned around resignedly, and was met with the familiar sight of the two figures walking almost comically towards him. The owner of the first voice, a tall and bulky fellow, was taking long-paced strides towards Arthur, while the other scurried swiftly behind him in an effort to keep up. Arthur forced himself to give a half-hearted wave at the two old colleagues of his: the persuasive and ever-creepy Ivan Bragisnski and his partner in business, the sensible and weary Yao Wang. It wasn't so much the people themselves that terrified Arthur (although Ivan was the sort of man who could murder someone and smile throughout the whole thing) - it was the memories they brought with them. He hadn't seen the men since last Christmas - and what an event that had been. Again with the 'memories-best-left-buried' business.

They had met up to discuss business propositions, Yao wanting Arthur to lend them money to go towards their company in return for a hand in their business - but it was near Christmas Eve, and the three had quickly resorted to more or less messing around, a bottle or two being passed around the three. And then Arthur, in a burst of sudden confidence and a desire to prove himself, had challenged Ivan to a drinking contest. Which turned out to be a terrible, terrible mistake, because it turned out that Ivan could drink enough vodka to drown a whale without even blinking. Arthur, however, had been stumbling by the third shot, and had ended up so wasted he had started doing all sorts of embarrassing things - claiming he was a 'Britannia Angel' being one of the more tame things he'd ended up doing. And Yao, that slightly tipsy bastard, he'd recorded the entire occurrence. And had then later used it for blackmail with the whole business deal. Arthur had sworn he'd never see them again after that fateful encounter, and also made a mental promise to never drink with business partners again.

Arthur felt slightly sick at the recollection, and offered a weak smile towards the two other men as they approached him.

"Ah, gentlemen, what a surprise to see you here! It's… uh… been a while, hasn't it?" he chuckled stiffly.

Ivan beamed back at him, while Yao offered him a brief and somewhat thin smile.

"Arthur. I see you're still… drinking," he greeted awkwardly, and Arthur frowned in confusion before realisation struck him like a slap to the face. He was standing in the drinks queue - they must have thought he was an alcoholic! He groaned inwardly, and shuffled his feet in embarrassment.

"W-well, isn't that an odd coincidence? I had no idea this was the drinks stand - I thought… I mean, I was just waiting for my friend and I happened to, uh…" he blundered weakly, and Yao nodded disbelievingly while Ivan just shook his head in disappointment.

"That is a shame - you were so funny when we last met! What could have happened? Ah, but you would still like to drink with _me_, da? I'm sure you could make an exception for old friends," he said sweetly, producing a large bottle of Vodka from his coat pocket while Yao frowned in disapproval.

"What have I told you about carrying alcohol around with you, aru?" he lectured, tapping the beaming Russian on his shoulder persistently. As he did so, there was a sudden insistent ringing tone that sounded from the larger man's pocket, and Arthur noted in interest how his face drained rapidly of colour.

Yao frowned as Ivan stubbornly ignored the call. "Ivan," he warned, and the Russian man gave a short, sharp laugh.

"So, Arthur, would you like some? It's very good," he muttered, holding the bottle towards the shorter man. Arthur shook his head almost desperately, and wondered if he should also mention the ringing phone. However, Yao beat him to it again when he took a step closer to Ivan.

"Ivan, answer the phone. It's Natalia, I'm sure - she won't be happy if you keep her waiting, aru!" he snapped, and Arthur looked on in confusion. Ivan had a girlfriend? And yet he'd been so sure the two businessmen had… _something_ with each other. Huh.

"No, no little Yao. My sister can wait, tonight is a night with you and friends!" Ivan argued frantically as he hurriedly grabbed his phone and fumbled for the delete call button. Yao ignored his pleas, swiftly plucking the phone from his grasp and answering the call with a brief "Hello?". Arthur raised his eyebrows; he hadn't known Ivan had a sister. Poor girl must be a weak one; he had a feeling Ivan wouldn't be the kindest sibling in the world…

"Ah, Natalia. Yes, yes. Ah, I am well. No, I am not holding Ivan hostage. I - Yes, I shall pass you to your brother now," Yao informed the girl politely, and Arthur watched in detached bemusement as Ivan visibly flinched away from the phone. What was that about a hostage?…

"Ah, Natalia-"

"BROTHER!" Arthur jumped as he heard the cry fly from the other end of the phone, even from his position a metre away from the Russian.

Ivan grimaced, holding the phone away from his ears as he frowned miserably at Yao. "Yes, sister, I am here. I just wanted to go out with Yao for a -"

"Oh, I see! Yao took you away from me, and now you've forgotten all about me!" the voice cried, sounding utterly heartbroken. Arthur frowned, feeling a jolt of pity for the poor girl. Although, from the way it sounded, she was implying that she wanted to go on a date with her _brother_…

Arthur figured now was a good time to back away. Forget about drinking; he needed to go and find Alfred so they could leave this freak show and escape any confrontations. However, as he turned to leave, there was a hand on his arm and he was spun back round to see Yao smiling frostily at him.

"It's rude to leave before your friends can say goodbye, you know," he said stiffly, and Arthur blanched.

"Uh… no, I was just -" He was interrupted by another sob from the phone, and rubbed his forehead wearily as he waited for his supposed 'friend' to finish the call.

"I will never forget about you, dear sister. No, I will see you soon, da?" he stalled, visibly relaxing as the frenetic tone on the other end quieted. Natalia muttered something unintelligible, and then Ivan shut the phone with a melancholy sigh.

"Ah… I suppose we will have to go soon," he mumbled, and Yao nodded in agreement. Arthur inwardly cheered, although he kept his expression passive; this meant he wouldn't have to refuse a drink! They could just leave to find Ivan's freak sister, he could grab a bottle of beer, Alfred would come and find him and -

"So now, Arthur will have to drink with me faster!" Ivan interrupted the Brit's thought line with the jarring comment, and Arthur snapped back to reality.

"Um. See, I would love to, really, old chap, but unfortunately I have a friend waiting for me!" he smiled falsely, wincing as Ivan's expression darkened minutely.

Yao said nothing, only rolled his eyes.

"It is only this once, and Arthur will have fun like last time!" Ivan stated, prompting a small frown from Arthur.

"Now then, Ivan, I know I drank with you that one time, but you must understand that it was a rare occasion and I really have no interest in -"

Ivan's smile dropped completely. "I see. So you would prefer cheap_ shit_ beer rather than this wonderful, expensive vodka?"

Arthur froze at Ivan's dark tone, a shudder making him shiver as he contemplated his options. It would just be a one off, he supposed, and he really wanted to keep his features in the right places, thank you very much.

He sighed resignedly. "You have a point, I suppose," he admitted, wincing in pain as the smiling Russian slapped him on the back happily, cheerful mood restored.

"Yay, yay! I will get you drunk, and we will see more funny antics," he giggled childishly, and Arthur shook his head determinedly as he reluctantly accepted the bottle. Okay, maybe slightly less than reluctantly. It was good vodka after all - and who was he to deny the allure of alcohol?

"No, I will_ not_ get pissed. I have more self restraint than that, being an English Gentleman and - oh, this is very good," he mumbled distractedly as he took another gulp.

Yao sighed in disapproval as he folded his arms. "I will have none. I still need to drive you home, Ivan - we really cannot stay too long, aru!" he muttered, and Ivan just smiled victoriously.

* * *

"And that, my good, _wonderful_ friend, is why… *hic!* you need to… uh, where did Yao go?" Arthur slurred, approximately an hour after the Ivan Incident.

Alfred was staring at the Brit, wondering if he'd been thrust into a parallel universe. Instead of snapping angrily at him as to why he had taken so long, Arthur was… drunk. And cheerful. _Very_ cheerful.

"Well, I think this Yao guy left, whoever he is," the American mumbled worriedly.

Arthur frowned momentarily, before shrugging carelessly and gazing happily up at the sky. Alfred felt a sliver of guilt run through him. This might not have happened if he hadn't left Arthur while he won Halloween prizes… but how was he to know Arthur had a freakishly low tolerance to alcohol? After all, he'd said he was only going for a beer - he looked like he'd been subjected to shots or something!

"Thish fair is so bloody fun! It's just so *hic!*, you know?" Arthur giggled, swaying on his feet as his hat lurched precariously on his head. Alfred winced. Arthur had seemed fine when he'd found him, staring off into space like some sentimental old man - but speaking to him had confirmed his pathetically inebriated state. Yes, Arthur was pissed out of his mind.

And Alfred couldn't help but feel disappointed.

"Yeah, it's been great, Artie, but -"

"It'sh Arthur. Or… is it Artie? I… God, I don't know."

"Artie's fine. Now, we really should get home -"

"I'm pissed, aren't I? Fuck," Arthur muttered, staring woefully up at the sky. "Fuuuuuck. Fuck!" Alfred winced as a lady walking near them 'hmph!'d in disapproval of the foul language, and he patted Arthur's arm consolingly.

"S'cuse me… is he okay?" muttered a man nearby to Alfred, gesturing to the fact that Arthur was now giggling continuously and pointing at the sky.

"Can you see the unicorns, Alfie? Aren't they so pretty? They exist, I can see them all the time," Arthur mumbled nonsensically, and Alfred cringed inwardly.

"Yeah, he'll be okay, I'm sure," Alfred responded dryly to the man, gently tugging on the intoxicated Brit's arm as he wandered around the field. "C'mon dude, let's get you home," he mumbled, and Arthur turned to him in shock.

"W-what! You want to send me home? Please don't send me back to England!" he whined almost childishly, and Alfred stared at him in concern.

"No… not England, I mean your home here in America, Artie!" he prompted, and Arthur gave a sigh of relief.

"Good. B'cause… Wait a second, it's _Arthur_," he mumbled crossly at the American, and Alfred let out a chuckle.

"Okay, _Ar-thur_, let's go then," he smiled, grabbing a flashlight from his jacket pocket and looking at the map to navigate.

Arthur frowned at him. "How're we getting home?"

"We're gonna walk, Artie - or at least I am, and you'll have to stumble or something, I guess."

"Bloody _Arthur,_ you wank- *hic!*"

* * *

"Dude, the door is this way," Alfred coaxed, leading Arthur towards the grand door as they walked down the gravel path to the mansion. He presumed Arthur had a key, but if not they'd just need to wake the maids up to let them in. Alfred felt a strange bout of protectiveness take hold of him as he realised he didn't want them seeing his Arthur in such a vulnerable state.

Not that he was_ his_ specifically, but - oh, hell, they'd been on a date, hadn't they? Even if said date had been kind of… disrupted. Through apple bobbing and alcohol and whatnot. Alfred felt a twinge of disappointment at Arthur letting himself get this drunk, but berated himself afterwards. No, it was partly his fault too - he'd abandoned Arthur in place of apples, after all, and he needed to hear Arthur's side of the story when he wasn't so piss-drunk.

"I know that, love," said piss-drunk man muttered, huffing as he continued to walk towards the shrubbery at the edge of the garden. He'd seemed to sober up again on the chilly walk home, but he still seemed very clumsy and falsely sure of himself. Alfred sighed and followed him, figuring it was best to let the man do as he wanted while he was being so stubborn.

As Arthur walked round the gravel path into the side part of the garden, he stopped suddenly and Alfred nearly walked into him.

"Uh, Artie?…"

"What?"

"Are you gonna carry on walking, or?…" Alfred was slightly concerned with Arthur's expression: a mixture between irritation and miserableness.

"No. Don't wanna. Over there is where that… where that _frog_ kissed me," the drunk man hissed, and Alfred groaned in realisation. He just had to bring that up, didn't he? Feeling that coal-hot burst of jealousy again, Alfred sidled closer to the Brit. He knew he was playing with fire, but he couldn't help but poke the flame. And didn't people always say that a drunken state brought out the truth?

"Sooo," he started casually, "… Did you enjoy it? Being kissed by Francis, I mean,"

Arthur actually snorted. "Bloody hell no! He tasted like… a_ frog_," Arthur whispered, before bursting into frantic giggles. Alfred shrugged nonchalantly, although on the inside he was sobbing with relief. He didn't want competition for when he… y'know, kissed Arthur himself.

If that was ever gonna happen, that was. He figured he'd have to some time, for the sake of the bet and all - after all, who wouldn't be seduced by a kiss from The Hero himself? - but also because he actually kind of wanted to kiss Arthur just _because. _Especially right now, for some reason. Perhaps it was something to do with the way the moonlit roses behind Arthur framed his face and turned the drunken flush into pink-cheeked prettiness - oh god, he sounded smitten!

"That's a shame. But you know, I bet I could show ya something better," he taunted, realising he was practically rolling around in fire by now. He may as well just prepare for the firemen to come with their hose-pipes and wait for the cold crash of reality to fall back onto him and - oh, Arthur was smirking. Flirtatiously.

Well then.

Alfred tried not to notice Arthur stepping closer, but he failed miserably when Arthur leaned in. _Why was he leaning in!?_

"Oh? And if I were to take you up on your offer?" he replied coquettishly, and Alfred wondered if he'd just gained an insight as to what the old, punk'd up Arthur was like. However, the thought didn't last long, as all he seemed able to concentrate on at the moment was how green Arthur's eyes were, and how god damn close they were to his own…

"Then I'd show you," Alfred said simply, eyes wide, and Arthur chuckled as he placed one hand on Alfred's shoulder and stood up on his toes.

"Then I say… _show me_," he breathed into Alfred's ear. The American could barely think with the red-faced Englishman hovering in his view. Since when had he been so goddamn attractive? His pale skin shone in the moonlight, only enhanced by the dark blush spreading its way across his cheeks. His lidded green eyes framed by his dark eyebrows were captivating, and seemed to draw Alfred in despite the slightly drunken haze settled over them. He felt the sudden urge to kiss him, to draw him into his arms and feel his warmth run through him in a contrast to the icy autumn air.

But he couldn't - shouldn't - do this now. Even though Arthur seemed flirtatious and eager at the moment, Alfred knew that it was just the alcohol talking and that Arthur would undoubtedly deny it in the morning - if he even remembered. He might hate Alfred for it, and Alfred had a feeling he would regret his hasty actions when he himself was thinking clearer. Despite himself, he thought of the bet, and was subjected to a sudden whirl of guilt. This was the perfect chance to complete the bet; he could say the kiss meant he'd successfully seduced Arthur and he'd be a winner. But did he really want to waste the opportunity? Not to mention the fact that it went against every one of Alfred's morals - oh, but he was leaning closer…

"You're drunk, Arthur," Alfred warned, brushing a hand through the shorter man's sandy blond hair as he briefly wondered when he'd lost his hat. Arthur just stared back at him with that determined, stubborn gaze, and Alfred winced internally as he felt his resistance start to crumble.

He caught Arthur's stare, his eyes trying to bore into the gentleman's mind.

_Do you really want this_? he questioned the Brit silently, and his only reply was a heated, hazy gaze.

Alfred gave up trying to resist. He leaned forward suddenly and roughly, arms circling round the shorter man's waist, and unceremoniously captured Arthur's mouth with his own. Arthur stiffened slightly in surprise, but quickly retaliated by placing his other hand hesitantly on the taller American's shoulders. The both moved closer to each other, and as Alfred closed his eyes he couldn't help but think briefly of how annoyingly perfect this was for the bet - but he quickly found himself not caring. All he cared about was how warm Arthur was, how his hands seemed to burn through his shoulders and how his soft hair tickled his nose and oh, his mouth…

There was a bang from round the corner, and the crunch of gravel. but Alfred ignored it. How could he not, with Arthur kissing him like that?...

"Oi! What are you morons doing out - oh my -!"

Alfred wrenched his mouth away from Arthur's in horror, trying not to wail at the loss of contact.

Alice stood a few feet away from them, eyes wide and blush prominent.

Alfred felt a rush of fear. "Guh! Uh, Alice, I didn't… um, he's drunk! And he just… _came onto me!_" he protested pathetically, gesturing to Arthur weakly. Arthur looked rather shocked, as if the kiss break had sobered him up somewhat, and looked hurriedly down at the floor like a scolded schoolboy.

Alice's eyebrows knitted together worriedly. "Uh! No, that's - I understand, sir. I'll just… um, go," she stated weakly, hurriedly turning round the corner. Alfred heard the door slam, and he cringed. Was she angry, or?… He chewed his cheek worriedly, gently taking a star-struck Arthur's hand and leading him inside his house as soon as he figured the coast was clear.

The house was silent as they walked through the hallway, and Alfred wondered if the maids were going to fire him once he was alone for taking advantage of their master. They may as well do. Alfred was horrible. He was a terrible, terrible butler, and -

"Oi, butler." Arthur turned to look at Alfred with narrowed eyes. "You're - uh, better than th' frog," he muttered, rubbing his eyes and shaking his head wearily.

Alfred jolted, startled. That was not what he'd expected to hear. "Oh! Um, well, I - I'm glad," he confessed weakly, and Arthur just glared at the floor.

"We should do it again."

"Yeah, uh, about that," Alfred said. "Maybe when you're more - uh, sober," he reassured, and they arrived at Arthur's fancy bedroom door. He opened it, showing the older man inside. "Right, you go in there and sleep - we'll talk about this in the morning," he encouraged, trying to ignore the look of desperation on Arthur's face.

"Oh God, I scared you 'way," he cried, trying to drag the American into his room. "Y'see, I - I mess everything up - stupid, stupid - ugh, stay, please, or I won't be able to sleep!"

Alfred winced at the thinly veiled begging. It was like some sort of sick parody of the other night - except this time one of them was _drunk,_ and they'd both just shared a rather heated kiss.

What on earth had he gotten himself into?

"I can't," he protested weakly, but Arthur just glared at him stubbornly.

"Hmph! I told _you_ to go the other night and you didn't - you fell asleep on me!" he proclaimed petulantly, as if that statement ruled out any excuses.

Alfred sighed in defeat. "Well, just this once I guess I could, but I am your Butler - as you like to remind me -so it's a little weird…"

"Who gives a fuck? C'mere," Arthur maundered, hand grabbing Alfred's wrist and yanking him downward. Alfred fell face first into the messy bed that he had helpfully forgotten to make that morning, and rolled his eyes as Arthur curled up against him. Although he was also acting very out of character, Arthur was so much more _affectionate_ when he was drunk… it was hard to resist, particularly for someone like Alfred. The butler sighed, wrapping his arms around the smaller man and closing his eyes as he tried to command himself to sleep. He wasn't sure how much time passed, but he had to admit - it was made a lot easier with the way Arthur was now snoring softly and snuggling into his shoulder…

Slowly, Alfred dozed off.

* * *

**A/N: Aaaaand I ruined their date! /rounds of applause**

** Yao, Ivan, why did you have to go and be there? Still - drunk!Arthur was featured, so hopefully that makes up for any disappointments. Oh, and, you know, the _kiss they just shared_. Even if it was a drunk one, I hope it'll do for their first! I don't know if you can tell, but I actually suck at writing any smooshy romance - I'm _very_ inexperienced in the world of love, shall we say, so all of this was made up! Please, don't judge me for how bad it may have been! B****ut do feel free to leave a review - they make my author-y world turn round ;)**

**Still, stay tuned for another chapter soon! **


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